Ten minutes later it happens again. Someone shouts, “Forty-eight!” Then half the room responds “Forty-nine! Fifty!” And everyone bellows, “SOME [RUBBISH]!” They dissolve into laughter. This, I discover, is the Jedburgh tradition reserved for any speaker who dares go on too long. It came from one of the American trainees who, when ordered to do fifty push-ups, counted the last few out loud: “Forty-eight. Forty-nine. Fifty!” then jumped to attention with a very audible “Some [rubbish]!” The British Jeds parodied it and it quickly caught on as a tactic to sabotage boring lectures from visiting officials…
That’s from Dadland, Keggie Carew’s memoir of her father, who’d been a British commando in France and Burma in World War II.
Be a lamb and don’t tell my students about this. I much prefer they maintain this disposition.
Concerned about the prospect of a third world war now that China has invaded Vietnam, Maurice, 29, expresses the fear that he could be eligible for an emergency draft call since he is a U.S. resident.
– “The Bee Gees Are Earthly Angels,” Rolling Stone, May 17, 1979
It was sixty years ago today that Elvis Presley entered the Army. I knew he’d been drafted, but didn’t know he’d manned a machine gun on the East German border. Turns out he was a very good soldier, as this BBC program recounts.
Now, I say this as a genuine fan of the Gibbous brotherhood, and I don’t wish to impugn the man. But had he been inducted, I’m not sure we’d have seen Maurice serving, à la King, in a scout platoon.
About that event that preoccupied Maurice:
The Chinese invasion turned out to be a disaster for Beijing, however. Over the course of a month of fighting, China lost almost half as many soldiers as the United States did in all of its war in Vietnam. There is little doubt that if Deng had not decided that the “lesson” for Vietnam was complete, the Chinese losses would have increased even further.
– The Cold War, Odd Arne Westad
The lesson may have been complete, but evidently not learned:
“We should go in and give them a bloody nose like Deng Xiaoping did to Vietnam in 1979,” the source said, referring to China’s brief invasion of Vietnam to punish Hanoi for forcing Beijing’s ally the Khmer Rouge from power in Cambodia.
– “‘Give them a bloody nose’: Xi pressed for stronger South China Sea response,” Reuters, July 31, 2016
And the new National Security Advisor is also, alas, an advocate of rhinointervention:
Last month, Bolton made a similar case for launching an attack, known as a “Bloody Nose” strike, against North Korea.
Just say no(se).
There are no such universally well-dressed people in the world as the Americans. It is not only that more of them than of any other nation have good clothes to their backs, but their garments are better made and adjusted to their persons, and worn with easier grace.
– The Bazar Book of Decorum, 1870
What is everybody in shorts for?
– Jerry Seinfeld, 2014
Twin 2 delights in seeing joggers wearing shorts in the winter. “That’s silly!” she exclaims.
“Oh, it’s silly,” I mutter.
Actually, I don’t know why it should bother me. I have a fairly enlightened attitude toward shorts in that I am willing to relax their prohibition in the event of sport or labor.
A couple of years ago cargo shorts were in the news as the subject of sartorial dispute. (As if it were a reasonable position not to find them ghastly.)
What sticks in my mind, though, is that someone had done his PhD dissertation on cargo shorts. Which means they’re not just apparel, they’re a scholarly pursuit.
There was an institution associated with the festivities of the Middle Ages of a peculiarly interesting description. It was the custom to elect a director or controller of the sports, and he bore the title of the “Lord of Misrule.” It was his business to determine to what extent the hilarity should be carried; at all events, to decide when it should stop. I think the idea is a very good one. We have a modification of it, the modern office of “Master of Ceremonies.” In Scotland, the name given to this functionary was “Abbot of Unreason,” an office prohibited in 1555.
– A Few Reflections on the Rights, Duties, Obligations, and Advantages of Hospitality, Cornelius Walford, 1885
Lord of Misrule! Abbot of Unreason!
Until the snow day on Thursday I hadn’t known about any of this. (Although, considering my teaching career, I say with confidence that some of my students may have.)
Wonder what went down in 1555 to put an end to it. Bet there’s a historical novel in there for Irvine Welsh.
While the position’s benefits may appear evident, I looked it up and there were also disadvantages:
Roman soldiers would choose a man from among them to be the Lord of Misrule for thirty days. At the end of that thirty days, his throat was cut on the altar of Saturn.
I found that volume in the Boston Athenaeum. It was the fourth of 133 printed for the members of London’s Sette of Odd Volumes, which is apparently the inspiration for the Club of Odd Volumes in Boston.
The Club of Odd Volumes is limited to 87 members. I’m not sure I could be their Abbot of Unreason, but if they need someone voluminous in oddity, they should sign me up. Either way, I continue to seek the establishment of the Boston branch of this club.
I try to avoid any place requiring shuttle buses, but when my friend Keith came up for the day and said he wanted to go to the JFK Library, I said OK.
My favorite part? Freedom 7! Hadn’t expected to see that. It’s on loan from the Air & Space Museum. Holy moly, it’s small:
And this is neat. It’s from a state dinner for the French minister of culture. I like the “who is he” next to Allen Tate (had to look him up myself). Also, upon scrutiny it appears that Truman Capote was unmarried. And apparently for some reason J.D. Salinger couldn’t make it.
The exhibits are fine, but given the size of the building, it all felt more like a good exhibition on JFK at some other museum (one probably without shuttle buses). It seemed too brief. Which I sadly suppose is fitting.
Heading back downtown we had to get on a special commuter rail shuttle, for a Red Line train at the next stop had “basically exploded.” I’m glad President Kennedy wasn’t there for that part:
Kennedy: Why isn’t the subway running?
Pete: Uh, well, it has a lot of problems these days.
Kennedy: I had you put a man on the moon! And – wait, this stop, it’s named after me? Look at it!
Pete: Hey, look what we can do with our phones: ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
Before Keith got back on his train for New York we stopped at the Parker House Hotel for a drink. That’s where JFK had his bachelor party. (Our drink was almost certainly more subdued.) The thing that intrigues me about the Parker House is that both Malcolm X and Ho Chi Minh worked there. I’m kind of surprised the hotel doesn’t make more of it, but then again, I guess I should be glad you don’t see a “By Any Means Necessary” or a “Tet Offensive” on the cocktail list.
I get ill all the time, but no one wants to hear about that.
– Paul Theroux
I was in Dick’s Sporting Goods recently and found myself laughing in the aisle. Twin 2, who has begun to suspect her father is unusual, asked what was so funny.
“They’re playing a silly song,” I told her.
For on the PA system was Run-DMC’s “You Be Illin’,” which contains one of balladry’s more lamentable parables:
Dinner, you ate it, there is none left
It was salty – with butter – and it was def.
You proceeded to eat it ’cause you was in the mood
But homes you did not read: it was a can of dog food!
This in turn was the Alpo madeleine of a memory from college. I had gone to a department office to drop off a paper. How I laughed at the sign on the door:
Closed Due to Illness
Now then. Your help, if I may: would you please let me know what’s your favorite idiom?
One of my resolutions is to teach my students an idiom a week.
My favorite is “barking up the wrong tree.” That combination of ardor and error – I do believe it captures something essential about la condition humaine. (Don’t worry, I just tell the kids it means you’re mistaken.)
NB a previous colleague left a book filled with pages of idioms, more than I can teach, so I don’t need suggestions – rather, I want your favorite one.
PS it does not go without saying – there are scoundrels among you – that I request your favorite idiom appropriate for children.
Michael Collins, who went to the moon with Neil Armstrong, is also a first-rate prose stylist with a natural feel for detail and a light touch for humor; his book sounds a lot like what you would expect if E.B. White had qualified as an astronaut and flown to the moon.
– Margaret Lazarus Dean, Leaving Orbit
I’m only halfway through Collins’ memoir Carrying the Fire, but I’m here to tell you he writes better than lots of people for whom the pen is the day job.
E.g. on being the new guy thusly assigned the unwanted task of testing devices to slow jets upon landing:
Arriving at the appointed spot, a deserted runway ending at the lake bed’s edge, the new test pilot is quickly strapped into the oldest, most dilapidated jet he has ever seen, a model long since abandoned by even the South American air forces. Peering down through cobwebs and birds’ nests, he is shown the one and only shiny new gauge in the cockpit – the airspeed indicator, all-important in delivering a precise reading of the amount of kinetic energy (one half the mass times velocity squared) the engineer demands for a given test run. The engineer has consulted his slide rule, charts, computer, and astrologer, and screams up to the cockpit over the whine of the engine, which the sweating pilot has finally managed to start with laconic advice from a disgusted mechanic who obviously feels personally insulted by having been sent this imbecile. “Say… er… er… is it Collins? O.K., Collins, we need eight-two knots on this one, no faster please, Collins.” They need the name to put on the accident form.
Speaking of laconic, here’s what he has to say about the mortality rate of pilots during training (NB his prior stateside training for combat in Korea, not to be a test pilot):
Some years ago I spent three happy weeks in a town outside Paris. There was a tourism office, and as it was July, I stopped in to ask if there were festivities for Bastille Day.
Now, in French the word for parade is défilé. So it is possible that, what with my accent, the lady at the desk was maintaining admirable sang-froid in the face of a shockingly indecent request. Still, though, it seemed like I’d asked when the next school committee meeting was.
“Well,” she replied. “There is something in the town square…”
So on July 14th I showed up and there were bleacher-style benches erected. I did not have trouble finding a seat. What followed was, by gum, solemn. Military units marched by, and the mayor or whoever gave a speech, and that was that. No one ate cotton candy.
My friend Will served a decade in the estimable What Cheer? Brigade. He’s probably marched in more parades than you, Gentle Reader, have had hot dinners.
“You know the thing about parades?” he once told me. “Most people watching look miserable.”
Jules, if you give that… nimrod fifteen hundred dollars, I’m going to shoot him on general principle.
-Vincent Vega, Pulp Fiction
Listening to Radio Free Amazon the other day I was all: But soft, this is my jam! But the thing was I didn’t know what it was. So I lifted myself off the couch to investigate. Such are my sacrifices to Apollo.
It was “Nimrod” from Elgar’s Enigma Variations.
Nimrod was once Merriam-Webster’s word of the day. Check out the accompanying brief podcast. Maybe I’ve spent too much of my life in middle school, but I defy you not to crack up when the guy says “the legendary nimrod.”
Anyway, this documentary on the legendary Elgar is aces. Success did not come easy for E, but he had that Growth Mindset.