Archive for November, 2022

The Black Friday Banana

November 25, 2022

(Just a bit about the ceremony of the BFB, which is of course date-specific. But only a hint; my day has been a complete shambles, prominently featuring long intervals of narcoleptic sleep. But a small bowl of pesto posole for lunch; its name alone rolls off the tongue.)

(Warning: two hunky men in nothing but jock straps, bonding over a banana, so not to everyone’s taste.)



November 24, 2022

On the spelling of this word with the letter E (rather than I) and its pronunciation with [ɛ] (rather than [ɪ]), both recently noticeable in my country because of the great increase in anti-Semitic rhetoric and actions here: worth systematic investigation.


The news from my house

November 23, 2022

Some news from my house, mostly to explain why there isn’t an actual posting today.

There is, first, affliction news, some of it good, some of it deeply annoying.


The lecherous gaze

November 22, 2022

Yes, another Sick Day, but I press on with today’s very pointed Zippy strip:

(#1) It’s all about ogling

From NOAD (note the content of the examples chosen: men ogling women, the canonical ogling scenario):

verb ogle: [with object] stare at in a lecherous manner: he was ogling her breasts | [no object]:  men who had turned up to ogle. ORIGIN late 17th century: probably from Low German or Dutch; compare with Low German oegeln, frequentative of oegen‘ look at’.


The wrap artist

November 21, 2022

Yet another Sick Day for me, so this is a minimal posting — you’ll have to google up stuff on your own — but I was so taken by today’s Wayno / Piraro Bizarro that I wanted to share it with you (with a bit of commentary, of course):

Wayno’s antic title: “Wrapper’s Delight” (with a pun on wrap vs. rap that I’ve borrowed for the title of this posting); if you’re puzzled by the odd symbols in the cartoon — Dan Piraro says there are 6 in this strip — see this Page


A touching memorial

November 20, 2022

My life continues to be mostly absorbed by the Respiratory Virus and what I’ve come to call the Sleep Monster, which has had me knocked out for five hours of today already. Bits of my waking time have been taken up by useful domestic things, like replacing my dead slipper / moccasins and assembling a pleasing Thanksgiving meal for myself (a bowl of very eccentric but satisfying posole — pork, white hominy, red, with idiosyncratic embellishments).

Otherwise, I’ve been consumed by fits of red-hot rage combined with body-wracking weeping sorrow over the shootings at Club Q in Colorado Springs; I hope to be able to post on that subject soon, but not now. In any case, before this news came to me, today’s Zippy strip came in, with a touching (and characteristically funny) memorial by cartoonist Bill Griffith to his cartoonist wife, Diane Noomin, who died back in September and then was memorialized in a service  by a bunch of unruly friends back on the 10th.

This is way too brief, but it’s the best I can do before my day runs out.

Just to note that these people are of my generation: Griffith is 4 years younger than me, Noomin was 7 years younger. For comparison: I’m essentially the same age as Nancy Pelosi, Anthony Fauci, Joan Baez, and Bob Dylan, and only 2 years older than Joe Biden.

Midnight Oxtail Stew

November 19, 2022

(Another Mary, Queen of Scots Not Dead Yet posting. I’m still in the Sick Zone — up at 4 after a rocky, painful night, then two two-hour periods of knocked-out unconsciousness by 10, so I don’t expect to get much work done today.)

(Oh yes, a pornstar flaunts his body shamelessly, so the posting is not for kids or the sexually modest.)

The text for today was supplied late last night on Facebook:

— Owen Campbell: What am I doing you ask? Just simmering a midnight oxtail stew for tomorrow

— AZ > OC: I do like midnight oxtail stew. Not a bad band name. And then there’s the gay pornstar Midknight Oxtail Stu.

First the food, then the gay pornstars.


Protective coloration

November 18, 2022

(I am now afflicted by two separate medical conditions — neither of them life-threatening, but the two of them together absorbing most of my day — so this is a Mary, Queen of Scots Not Dead Yet posting. Real content, but a brief job of composition for me. I have not forgotten Zippy and his dots.)

Passed on to me by Jens Fiederer this morning, a Gary Larson Far Side cartoon I don’t recall having seen before:

(#1) Protective coloration saves lives


Dotty Zippy

November 16, 2022

The Zippy strip of 9/10, in which our Pinhead, anticipating little balls of flash-frozen ice cream, embraces dot dot dot in two ways at once:

(#1) Ellipsis dots meet Dippin’ Dots at the carnival

Two very different uses of NOAD‘s noun dot-1 ‘a small round mark or spot’ (dot-2 is an archaic noun referring to a dowry):



November 15, 2022

That’s who the postcard was addressed to. The postcard announcing the annual holiday fair of the artifactory / The Artifactory in Palo Alto:

(#1) Arnold M Zwicky has been getting these announcements for a couple of decades, but I believe that this is the first time MARCIA M Zwicky got one and I didn’t (it’s possible that I didn’t notice for a couple of years, because COVID-19, but my replacement by MARCIA M is surely a recent thing)

I suspect that this address is incorrect — it should be MARCIA M M Zwicky, because her full name is MARCIA MARCIA MARCIA Zwicky. As in The Brady Bunch.

Back in the real world, there’s the question of where MARCIA came from, and for that I have no idea, beyond the possibility that the Artifactory’s address database somehow mingled two different addresses, MARCIA + X and Y + M Zwicky.

In the world of consensus reality, there’s the Artifactory cooperative and the tv series The Brady Bunch (though I have to point out that we’re interested in the series for the (fictive) narrative in it, for the stories it tells). And then the fantasies and inventions I’ll spin out will use some other established fictive narratives: the story of the Three Magi and the tales of the Archangel Michael. With a side reference to the comics and graphic novels of Alison Bechdel.

In fact, Bechdel will serve as the entry point into the (real-world) story of the Artifactory cooperative.