"thou liest, most ignorant monster" the tempest: iii, ii

I haven't posted in over a month, but reading this article on CNN left me so astonished that I had to put it up.

NEW YORK (CNN) -- A Muslim man jumped to the aid of three Jewish subway riders after they were attacked by a group of young people who objected to one of the Jews saying "Happy Hanukkah," a spokeswoman for the three said Wednesday.

The New York Police Department's Hate Crimes Task Force is investigating Friday's incident on the Q train.

Friday's altercation on the Q train began when somebody yelled out "Merry Christmas," to which rider Walter Adler responded, "Happy Hanukkah," said Toba Hellerstein.

"Almost immediately, you see the look in this guy's face like I've called his mother something," Adler told CNN affiliate WABC.

Two women who were with a group of 10 rowdy people then began to verbally assault Adler's companions with anti-Semitic language, Hellerstein said.

One member of the group allegedly yelled, "Oh, Hanukkah. That's the day that the Jews killed Jesus," she said.

When Adler tried to intercede, a male member of the group punched him, she said.

Another passenger, Hassan Askari -- a Muslim student from Bangladesh -- came to Adler's aid, and the group began physically and verbally assaulting him, Hellerstein said. (continued)

"Oh, Hanukkah. That's the day the Jews killed Jesus." Seriously??

SERIOUSLY???

Look, I'm not religious, but all in all, I think I have a pretty upbeat moral outlook. And one thing that seems clear to me here is that, if, when uttering a seasonal greeting that generally implies good wishes, you are so easily turned to hate and bile by someone else uttering an alternative seasonal greeting with similar good wishes, you weren't truly using your seasonal greeting for its intended purpose. You were using it to be an asshole.

Here's what I seriously just cannot get my head around, and maybe it's because I don't believe in any "The One" true religion myself: Even if you believe you have The One Truth, why would someone believing that their differing belief is the One True one be so threatening to you? Is it because you're unsure of your own beliefs? Is it because you're a fucking moron? I'm leaning heavily towards option B.

And furthermore, if you're going to be an intolerant asshole, why not at least be well-informed about it, and not yell out a dumbass, idiotic comment such as the one about Hanukkah being the day the Jews killed Jesus. That's just plain thick, on every level.

In the end, it just depresses the shit out of me to be trying to enjoy the Goodwill Toward Men part of the secular version of Christmas I observe and to read about people - people who supposedly actually believe the other parts of this holiday - being such effing pricks.

"'tis no time to play now" romeo and juliet: iv, v

I just watched the Sanbitter video like 3 times rapid-fire. It's mesmerizing. Oh, and I have studying I'm supposed to be doing, so that makes it more transfixing.

I was walking past this really seedy bar this afternoon just as the Preakness was finishing up. I heard this guy yelling at the top of his lungs "Get up there! Get up there!" and then he cheered so loudly I could hear him down the block. I guess he had a little bit of money on the winning horse. I can only hope for his sake it's enough to upgrade to a different bar; the one he was in advertised in the window that they had no public restrooms.

Oh, also, I just read this headline: "Study: Vitamin overuse could lead to cancer." Nice."A new study from the National Cancer Institute suggests a link between heavy use of multivitamins and increased risk for prostate cancer." Nutrition is getting to be more and more of a lose-lose proposition.

I just watched the Sanbitter video again. The guy's wearing a piano tie. It's awesome. It's awesome in the "it makes no sense" kind of way. If I understood Italian it would probably just be lame, but since Italian is just about as decipherable as Klingon for me, it's just pleasantly nonsensical.

And much better than learning the reason why glycerine is added to rolled fondant. (The reason is to make it more pliable and to prevent it from cracking and tearing when used.)

And with that ..... off I go.

"Gives her fame which never dies" much ado about nothing: v, iii

One of these things is not like the other. Can you pick up on it?

From CNN.com's front page.

- Key Virginia race going to the wire
- Democrat projected winner in Ohio governor's race
- Hot button issues in ballot measures | Video
- FBI probes claims of deceptive election phone calls
- Corruption named top issue in exit polls | Video
- The Ticker: Campaign says fliers weren't 'dirty trick'
- Governor's goof delays his vote | Video
- Man accused of smashing voting machine
- Britney Spears files for divorce
- CNN Wire: Latest updates on world's top stories

Because this is Election Day, these are the ONLY headlines appearing on the front page today. And Britney made it up there. Way to go, girl! No other entertainment star is up there today, but you found a way!

"i will resist such entertainment" the tempest: i, ii

I try not to be too high and mighty about this, but I've given up television. We don't have one at our house, and I rarely watch it anywhere else. Yes, I will watch it if it's on at someone else's house or if I'm housesitting or something. But my life no longer revolves around shows. At first it was a little strange, but I've gotten to the point now where I rarely miss it. Once in a while I'm bummed if I'm missing a Pats game, but I have class all day Sundays anyway now, so at this point I really don't miss it. All in all, getting rid of tv has freed me up not just in the sense that I'm not sitting in front of the tube, tied to a schedule there, but also in the sense that I have a lot more brainpower to devote to other things now (such, in my case, as they are).

I found this article disconcerting: TV for the Time-Pressed. Basically it's "if you only watch one show per night, these are the ones to hit." Again, I don't want to come off like I'm on a high horse, even though I know it probably will, but it just seems sad to me, the idea that even if you're time-pressed, one might feel as though at least a show must be watched. I mean, if you're short on time, wouldn't watching tv be a good thing to discard from the schedule? You could instead take a little "me-time," to think, or read, or just be, without stuff being fed into your brain. Maybe my attitude about this is similar to a phenomenon some former smokers have mentioned to me, where, after they quit smoking and were out of the first couple weeks, they got to a point where watching anyone else smoking made them mad. Anyway, I'm not trying to convert anyone, not really ... but I will say that I feel my mind working much more clearly now than it did when I was at my peak of tv-watching hours.

On another note, here's a little interchange I witnessed yesterday. I was boarding a bus from my school's campus that was heading downtown. There was a large group of undergrads all around me, waiting for their buses as well. As I was boarding, a young woman leaned up the stairs behind me and addressed the crotchety old angry bus driver:

Woman: (somewhat confrontationally) Does this go down to the Hospitality Campus?
Driver: (short-temperedly) What does the sign up there say? Huh?
Woman: (scornfully) Pssh! I don't know, I guess I can't read.
Driver: (with equal contempt) You're real smart, guess that's why you got to college.
Woman: (back turned, leaving) Pssshh!

and ... scene

"what revels are in hand?" a midsummer night's dream: v; i

*Sigh* It's never a good thing when I start yelling back at the radio on my way home from work. I won't get too much into what it was that made me yell at the innocent NPR reporter who was simply delivering the news that I found so abhorent -- in fact, insert your own yell-inducing topic if you like. But it got to the point where I was actually yelling - not in my head, but out loud, directing my gaze at the radio as if it could hear me and might heed my anger, changing the news it was telling me. Some people call it passion, others call it fucking bonkers. When I realized what I was doing, it felt like the latter. So I turned the channel and settled into the thrall of pre-programmed Corporate Radio, those fucking bastards. Oh, right, I forgot; I Have Opinions on that, too. I'm glad my work week is over; put it that way.

The upside of today was that there was a big crate of pumpkins outside the store today, which means it is almost time for my favorite holiday; you guessed it, Arbor Day.

Haha, no, no, of course I'm just kidding; everyone knows Arbor Day is in April. Of course I'm talking about Halloween. I. Love. Halloween. Sadly last year I did not get to "do" anything for Halloween because of work, but even on the years when I don't get to do anything, I still love it. I love the feeling of fall at that time, I like the first few weeks after we change the clocks and it gets dark early (I get tired of that pretty quick though). I like the feeling of Halloween being one of the last nights of outdoor revelry before we all hunker down into our homes for the winter. I'm a dork. I know it.

More than anything, though, I love the stuff that has to do with Halloween itself - the pumpkins on all the stoops, which, a day or two before the holiday, sprout glowing faces; the scarecrows in the yards, those all-out folks who build a whole horror story in their yards, and the costumes. Oh, the costumes!! I'll tell you something about my childhood - my birthday is at the end of August. With no real holidays between my birthday and Halloween, I would often spend the whole of September and October dreaming about, brainstorming for, and building my costume for Halloween. I never had anything super spectacular, but it was always well thought out and, well, my parents always said my costumes were neat. It was doing the work that was fun. Sometimes I would finish my costume well before Halloween and I would get bummed out, having to look at it wasting away in the corner of my bedroom, waiting for that one glorious night when it would get to shine!! And then it would all be over too quickly, one fleeting night, sometimes even so cold that the costume was obscured by the sweatshirt my mom would make me wear. Actually, after a while, I started thinking of costumes that would work well with a sweatshirt.

Recently, the most fun I had for Halloween was when my husband, one of our dear friends, and I decided to hit the town as the I-Don't-Care Bears. Instead of the warm and fuzzy Care Bears, with character names such as Cheer Bear, Friend Bear, Wish Bear, or Do Your Best Bear, we were their ne'er-do-well cousins: Boozy Bear (my husband), Druggie Bear (our friend), and Special Bear (me). Boozy Bear was all black, with a belly emblem of a variety of alcoholic beverages, realistically rendered with eye-popping detail on the martini's olive spear and the beer's foam. Druggie Bear was in all purple, with a belly including a syringe and a lifelike bag of a suspicious crystaline substance. As Special Bear, I was dressed in all yellow, and on my belly was a short school bus. The topper on my costume was the helmet I wore, with stickers on it proclaiming that "God made me special." No doubt I, if not the three of us collectively, are going to hell for that one.

Halloween: Best. Day. of. the. Year.

"but what care i for words?" as you like it: iii; v

I say I'm a recovering English major in my profile, but it's not entirely accurate. More correct would be to say that I'm an English major who's found her calling not to be in reading and writing English, but who still harbors a crush on it as a hobby. I get a kick out of the written word; it's pretty astonishing to think how language has developed and evolved and devolved. I try to be observant of language patterns in our changing culture, and so I read a lot of different, and in some cases, crappy, literature and media. Along the way, I often pick up amusing anecdotes that have not so much to do with language, but more about how absurd life can be.

Like this.

If, like our president, you're not what we call a "reader", here's the Reader's Digest: A British biographer named A.N. Wilson wrote a biography of the British poet John Betjeman, who had, apparently, stated late in his life that he wished he had had more sex. He was married and it was assumed his sex life was dull. Well, the biographer received a letter that supposedly revealed an extramarital affair between Betjeman and another writer; it was apparently a love letter from him, and Wilson printed the letter in the biography saying there had been this affair. Ok, here's the thing: it was a hoax. The letter was a fake, and not only that, but encoded in one section of the letter, using the first letter of each word, was the sentence "A.N. Wilson is a shit." Nice!!!! But ok, here's the other thing: the letter came from an unknown correspondent using a French return address, but the letter was postmarked in London.

Now, I'm not a fancy-schmancy biographer or anything, so maybe I'm overthinking things, but it seems to me that before actually publishing a letter received from an unknown person in a book about someone else, one might take care to research the contents of that letter, and perhaps check other sources to corroborate, or, at the very least, cast some degree of authenticity on the whole matter.

What's worst about the whole thing, for this dumb-ass biographer, is that it seems that he was informed of the hoax by the Sunday London Times, who pointed out the nasty encoded message to him, and he was left lamely saying "I should have smelled a rat." Smelled a rat? No, good sir, it is not that you should have smelled a rat, it is that you should have simply done your job.

* * *

Well, I am trying to finish up a book about Shakespeare, so I'll close for now. Shakespeare: now there's a guy who liked to play with words. If he didn't find a word he liked for what he was trying to express, he just made one up! And a lot of them stuck! To name a few: impartial, jaded, gloomy, premeditated, frugal, and zany. I find that to be ... well .... transtounding.