Shall I compare thee to a summer day?

Since we are a literature blog now, we have to do serious stuff, like posting some serious pictures, like. Like this one...

Tyson Beckford

...which brings to mind Shakespeare's 18th sonnet...


Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer's lease hath all too short a date:
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimmed,
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance, or nature's changing course untrimmed:
But thy eternal summer shall not fade,
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st,
Nor shall death brag thou wander'st in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st,
So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee. 


...(you don't want to look at the HTML code underneath)...

...but you might want to look at this clip, eternalizing David Gilmour, the singer of Pink Floyd, when he set the sonnet to his music, because that's what aging rock stars, like us, do, when, they, have, their, reflective, moments...





...and judge yourself.

Hold on, here are a few pointers to Sonnet 18:

Guiness Book of Averages

Yes, we know. Something went wrong with the link. So we have to write our own Book on Averages now. Won't be easy. But we know already...

Average time of reading a Shakespeare sonnet: 3 minutes.

And, along those lines (you know us)...

Average length of the human penis: The average penis size is slightly larger than the median size (i.e., most penises are below average in size).

Seamus, who looks like a penis, but was not strapped to the roof
of the station wagon

Now we still don't know the average size, but imagine that we were having a phone conversation with a tele-marketeer who is selling penis-enhancers, say. You ask a direct question. Like: "You think my penis is too small?" Would you expect a direct answer? No, you are so much used to the decline of our civilization, you are completely accepting of the answer:"The average penis size is slightly larger than the median size (i.e., most penises are below average in size)" and you buy the penis-enhancer from Beate Uhse instead. That link didn't break, right? By the way, it's indicative of the Tea Party that its members don't think asides about tele-marketeers are funny.

Update, update:

Your dong as a life-style issue

Stay tuned.

Holmes and Holmes again (Dirk)

Let's promise a joke, first.

Second, let's watch the clip:



What is it about Sherlock Holmes? His wit must play a major role, so there's still hope for mankind. And now the joke:

Sherlock Holmes and Dr Watson go on a camping trip. After a good dinner and a bottle of wine, they retire for the night, and go to sleep. Some hours later, Holmes wakes up and nudges his faithful friend. “Watson, look up at the sky and tell me what you see.” “I see millions and millions of stars, Holmes” replies Watson. “And what do you deduce from that?” Watson ponders for a minute. “Well, Astronomically, it tells me that there are millions of galaxies and potentially billions of planets. Astrologically, I observe that Saturn is in Leo. Horologically, I deduce that the time is approximately a quarter past three. Meteorologically, I suspect that we will have a beautiful day tomorrow. Theologically, I can see that God is all powerful, and that we are a small and insignificant part of the universe. But what does it tell you, Holmes?” Holmes is silent for a moment. “Watson, you idiot!” he says. “Someone has stolen our tent!”

Isn't it awfully nice to have a penis (2) (Monty Python)

And here's the clip:



For a full transcript, see our earlier post here.

Green eyes, Prologue

Readers, the first chapter of this story describes a casual encounter of three men in the dunes behind the gay section of the beach of my town. It does so in fairly graphic language, language that might be shocking to some of you. I have therefore decided to put the first chapter into an appendix, and provide instead a flat, inoffensive summary of the events described there, events that triggered the heartbreaking, murderous, but ultimately fortuitous story of the Green Eyes.

My name is John Lee, and I live in Georgia Beach, GA. I teach French at Southern Georgia College, a small school 30 miles to the south-east.

I have issues. During my adolescence, I was diagnosed with bipolarity, a psychological condition of difficult mood-swings. As I grew up, I became arrogant, shy, and homosexual, character traits that interact with my bipolarity. At my age --- I am 29 years old --- I find myself in a downward spiral of disengagement, depression, and neglect. Whereas I was outgoing and sexually active during my youth, I am now mostly confined to my small apartment on the Roosevelt Canal, where I --- auto-erotic efforts aside --- play chess on the internet (losing), publish a blog (that nobody reads), and prepare classes (that students don't like). A side-effect of my bipolarity of relevance here has to do with my language. I am hypersensitive to certain power-point expressions ("going forward"), but use myself various forms of new-speak (e.g., the "un"-prefix), idiosyncratic turns of phrase (using "said" as a demonstrative, "wise" as a post-fix modifier), and am given to awkward metaphors and abundant bracketing (()). My mother is French, my father rarely spoke when I was young, and English is not my first language.

We're in early July when the story begins. I am waking up on a Sunday morning, feel the need for fresh air, and decide on stroll along the beach. As I saunter past the gay section of said beach, I encounter a man of great physical attractiveness. He has roughly my age, but his most remarkable feature are his green, mesmerizing eyes. We take note of each other. The man, let's call him Green Eyes, is clearly indicating his readiness for an immediate exchange of bodily fluids. I follow him into the dunes. We undress for, and engage in, a sexual act. A third man appears on the scene, undresses, and joins. All three of us reach a climax in due course. Green Eyes re-dresses and disappears. In a surprising turn of events --- surprising at least for anybody who is familiar with casual, anonymous homosexual behavior --- the third man invites me to a party at the house of a friend later in the evening. So far, Chapter One.

Readers, I urge you, I implore you, leave the appendix alone, turn the page, and continue with Chapter 2.

Halt. Hold it. I forgot. The sanitization of Chapter 1 doesn't mean you can fool around. The rest of this book isn't a cakewalk either, it's solely for mature audiences, to put it mildly. Have fun.

Opus 1 (German for beginners)

Praise for Michael Winter's Opus 1:

"Die konzertierten Harmonien dieses erstaunlichen Erstwerkes erinnern nicht so sehr an Wagner oder Debussy, obwohl sie in ihrer Transzendenz und konzentrierten Zurückhaltung gleichwohl das Interesse eines an Weltmusik geschulten Publikums verdienen..." (BaRbette Bienpensant in Fortgeschrittene Musik)

Right. We told you so.

PS: If I would show this to my mother, she would say "albern" ("silly")
PSS: Here's the Google translation:

"Concerted harmonies of this amazing Erstwerkes remember not so much of Wagner and Debussy, although their transcendence and concentrated restraint nonetheless deserve the attention of a qualified audience of world music ..."

PSSS: Not our day.

Car poetry

"You need one of these," a friend writes and sends this picture:

 "Perhaps you don't know," we write back, "but we've got a new car, well not so new, but it has a cool running board and sexy tires." He can't believe it, he needs to see a picture. Here it is:

And here's the cultural excuse for all this:

A car is a car
If it can ride you nearby or far

A car is a car
When it gets you in time to the bar.

Sylvia Chidi

(Editor's note: the poem continues for another 30 lines or so, which we edited out for obvious reasons)

Cow poetry

Please take a picture of the cows...asked Jo on the phone. So here we are, with cows right on the little patch below the parking lot of the chalet zone in Bürchen, Switzerland, where we are staying at the moment...

...but we are not yet done, since this blog is about to undergo transmogrification into a platform for Michael's writing and other cultural pursuits. How are we going to justify pedestrian cows to high-minded readers? With poetry, of course, Cow Poetry. Let's keep it short, though, you never know how this will end.

I've never seen a purple cow,
I never hope to see one,
but I can tell you anyhow,
I'd rather see then be one!

Gelett Burgess

Isn't it awfully nice to have a penis (Monty Python)

"Isn't it awfully nice to have a penis? Isn't it frightfully good to have a dong? It's swell to have a stiffy; it's divine to own a dick...from the tiniest little tanger, to the world's biggest prick! So three cheers for your willy or john thomas...hurray for your one-eyed trouser-snake...your piece of pork, your wife's best friend, your percy or you cock...you can wrap it up in ribbons, you can slip it in your sock...but don't take it out in public or they will stick you in the dock, and you won't come back. Uuh thank you very much." (Hat tip: Urban Dictionary)

Good Morning!

"What are your plans?"

From Corbin Fisher's website ACM

What would Freud say?

The Kingdom, debt, and Paul Ryan

We received several political emails from Perry (him from the Kingdom). In the first email, he writes:

Perry

On the VP Ryan front: He has our vote.

In the second, he writes:

The US problem is debt. We are floating in debt and O'b [Obama] is simply not willing to address the problem.

And in the third, he writes...

...let's interrupt briefly here, and go to a source that has shown it ability to bring a syllogism home, to quote a source correctly, and to win the Nobel price in economics, and this source writes in its latest post:

Let’s look at what Ryan's budget actually proposes (as opposed to vaguely promises) in its first decade.

VP hopeful Ryan

First, there are a set of tax cuts for higher income brackets and corporations. The Tax Policy Center estimates the cost of these tax cuts, relative to current policy, at $4.3 trillion

From dawn to dust

 From dawn to dust,

 It's such a lust,

A letter to my lawyer

Here's an unedited email I sent to my lawyer earlier today:

...thanks...I'll react tomorrow...It would be EXTREMELY HELPFUL IF YOU COULD, IN FURTHER COMMUNICATIONS, CONFIRM THE RECEIPT OF AN EMAIL MESSAGE WHEN ASKED TO DO SO...

...CONCERNING SOME OF YOUR COMMUNICATIONS, I HAVE THE FEELING TO BE CONFRONTED WITH REALLY OLD-SCHOOL FRENCH BUREAUCRACY...OLD-SCHOOL ALSO IN THE SENSE THAT THE UNDERLYING ADMINISTRATION DOES NOT WORK...DATA HAVE BEEN COMMUNICATED TO YOUR OFFICE, AND ARE SUBSEQUENTLY LOST, HASTY PHONE CALLS ARE THEN MADE THAT WOULDN'T BE NECESSARY IF YOUR ADMINISTRATION WOULD BE UP TO DATE, PHONE CALLS THAT COST TIME AND MONEY, POSSIBLY OUR MONEY....AND THERE ARE OTHER PROBLEMS .... NOT GOOD...OLD-SCHOOL FRENCH BUREAUCRACY...MAIN REASON WHY FRANCE IS DOING SO POORLY THESE DAYS IN COMPARISON TO PLACES WHERE LAWYERS (and others) ACTUALLY *DO* RESPOND TO EMAILS PROMPTLY AND *ARE* ABLE TO CONFIRM THE RECEIPT OF EMAILS WHEN ASKED TO DO SO...IT'S A MATTER OF PRODUCTIVITY...

I have been a professional bureaucratologist for an important part of my career (Link:

Google.Scholar.Masuch

) and from my perspective, I can tell you, you should REALLY, REALLY, reorganize in a thorough and strict way the communication flow in your office, starting from scratch, even if it means that heads rollllll---

Kind Regards, Michael Masuch

PS (Sept 7, 2012): I'm studying the way people get fired these days, and there are cases where people got fired for using to much upper case in their emails. Seriously.

Olympics (Urban Dictionary, July 25, 2012)

Word of the day

Olympics: Loose assemblage of activities undertaken quadrennially by over-ripped folk with an odd view of life and difficulty prioritising. Small trinkets on coloured ribbons and needlessly ostentatious flower arrangements are commonly given to several of the better entrants as stirring tunes play. Flags and advertising signage tend to be prominently displayed and portly men in suits shuffle about needlessly.

We couldn't agree more.

Tell me why America is the greatest country in the world

This is how Aaron Sorkin's HBO series Sixty Minutes opens, folks:

Prometheus --- film review (spoiler alerrrt)

This multiplex in Pathong's biggest mall is real nice, the shiniest black marble greets the lone visitor, and it's being polished a-more as we a-wait the beginning of the movie. We did MIB 3, and may elaborate on it later. Now we are doing Prometheus, the latest film by Ridley Scott (Alien, Blade Runner, Gladiator...). The movie program of this multiplex is somewhat meager, three or four movies are running now, and the humongous auditorium n° 5 is empty. We brought warm clothes to weather the air conditioning. An utterly empty auditorium, it's always impressive, especially to retired university professors, as it brings their worst nightmares to life.

OK, Prometheus. We vaguely recall having read a review in the NYT, not a bad review, right? SciFi, somebody's having visited Planet Earth 35,000 years ago, left some traces, and modern science has discovered where they came from. We're on our way. A motley crew. They've been hired on the fly by Charlize Theron, whose nose is so straight she must have had a facial. Also aboard is David, the humanoid (robot). He's so much smarter than than the rest that one wonders why anybody bothered to send authentic humans at all---except that the uppity assistant who pointed this out at the script conference got fired on the spot, perhaps because David looks too much like Lawrence of Arabia, or, more precisely, like Peter O'Toole, and he also speaks like a British actor from fifty years ago.

Sushi Express

So Chang discovers this outlet, right in the heart of JongCeylon, Patong's largest mall. And it's a buffet, which means you can eat as much as you like. For 300 bath (10 US$). Or perhaps, more precisely: eat as much as you can, because that's the idea of buffets, isn't it. And if we can mangle our philosophical thoughts at this point, if maximizing quantity and utility converge buffet-wise, we are dealing with a case resistant to Hegel's conversion law ("Quantität schlägt in Qualität um"), which, by implication, also weakens Karl Marx's case (if only Alexis Tsipras, the new, young, handsome, charismatic, Greek leader would know, it might save the Euro).



You have 1 hour 15 minutes for eating more than you like; a wall clock watches with red digital display over the proceedings, an ambulance is waiting outside.

I'll come with you (breaking news alert)

Not the girl

It's a shower first, lightning strikes, the power is cut. Rain continues, and Michael refuses to go out, instead he ponders whether he will be able to read his Kindle in the light of a single kandle. Chang, hungry, is finally forced by his appetites to leave the premises in search for take-out food. And he comes back and tells the following story:

I walk past this girl, perhaps for the third time now, and she is selling something, and always waving and smiling. I reply in some way. She asks "you are staying nearby?"

-"Yes."

-"How long are you staying?"

-"One month."

The girl grabs my arm and says: "I am coming with you."

We are not making this up. 

Tunk-Ka Café

Our longest-lasting controversy is about the river-side café, and while I sing about its charms, such as the chilled, oaky, buttery chardonnay served with chicken breast and sauce hollandaise, or the light wood paneling, or the shady riverside terrace with its muted, yet clipped conversations about Muffy who failed to make partner with Allen & Overy, or the color coding of the awnings, always dark green, preferably in the hex value #00693E (Dartmouth Green), brèf, while I am singing about the river-side café, Chang is dreaming of food markets, this Asian contraption that encumbers the innocent hungry-man between various food stalls where everything is cheap, and abundant, and smelly, and sticky, and eaten with chop sticks.

We are on our first excursion across Phuket now, and the understanding has been that we would end up in a food market, but the first food market didn't pass Chang's muster even though it was located in the Korean neighborhood of Phuket Town, because the Thai girl behind the Korean garlands didn't speak a word of Korean, and so we are driving on, and it is already past 12am, the time when Chang is overwhelmed by hunger and everything stops until he finds a place to restore himself. He suggests we turn right, but I continue straight, and we are mysteriously led up a hill when signs appear which speak of the Tunk-ka Café. The road ends in a parking lot, and everything is coded in dark-green, including the lush, tropical forest, and Chang wants to flee, but is overwhelmed by hunger now, and we, who haven't been to a riverside café in eons, we end up in the first HILL-TOP café of our life, by sheer serendipity.



The Tunk-ka Café. We have to descend a long staircase. Chang is scared. Have a look at the menu first, he cries, but the prices are reasonable, to his disappointment.