Briefly: the cymbidium report

April 15, 2023

A note on the cymbidium orchids growing on my patio. This has been not only an especially wet rainy season, but also a cold one, and the orchids seem to be about a month later than usual in blooming. The buds on roughly half the flower shoots have not yet opened, and it’s mid-April; this is a bit ominous, because once hot dry weather comes (normally, the beginning of June), any flowers shrivel and die, while the plants go dormant until the cool rains come again (roughly, in November), though their strap-like green foliage remains.

Always the first of my cymbidiums, a variety with bright yellow has just, today, come to the end of its season. Its flower shoot appeared just after Halloween, the buds finally opened 2 months later, just after New Year’s, and the flowers lasted for 3½ months.

Unfortunately, the 8 stalks of buds that haven’t yet opened have only about 6 weeks until the floral grim reaper’s scythe; their normal lifespan will be much shortened, and some buds might even wither in the heat before they can open.

But what I actually have, to view out the window where I work, is quite a display, the central items being a pink variety, and one in the palest of yellows. Photos of these from 3/20/21:

(#1)
(#2)

 

Briefly: yet another winged man

April 15, 2023

… who just appeared on Pinterest, in this painting by French artist François Bard:

(#1)

I know nothing at all about the context of this painting (even when it was painted); I’m posting it because I have a thing about winged men.

This is, in any case, a thoroughly realistic portrait of a man — not a fantasy figure — who just happens to have wings. Even the wings are weighty and detailed: real wings that just happen to be attached to a man.

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Jeanne Manford

April 14, 2023

A remarkable story that has moved me to tears, for reasons I’ll try to explain later in this posting. From the New Yorker issue of 4/17/23, “How one mother’s love for her gay son started a revolution:  In the sixties and seventies, fighting for the rights of queer people was considered radical activism. To Jeanne Manford, it was just part of being a parent” by Kathryn Schulz, on-line on 4/10 (which is the version reported on here; my hard-copy NYer of 4/17 hasn’t yet arrived).

The teaser copy:

When Manford’s son Morty came out, in 1968, homosexual acts were criminal in forty-nine states. She never tried to change him; she set out to change the world instead.

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Escape from the lab!

April 13, 2023

From a comic book of my childhood, Weird Science #8 (July 1951):


(#1) In the story “Seeds of Jupiter” (Bill Gaines, writer; Al Feldstein, inks and pencils) — posted on 4/12 by Tim Evanson on Facebook

The panel evokes (at least) two themes from philosophy, literature, and popular culture:

— the  Ungodly Knowledge theme — there are things we were not meant to know — the products of which are then inadvertently released onto the world; the prototype is the story of the monster created by Victor Frankenstein

— the Beast Within theme — we are both good and evil, a beast lurks within us — related to the larger theme of transformation into a monster (a werewolf, a vampire, whatever); the prototype is the story of the monstrous Mr. Hyde, released in the lab from within Dr. Jekyll and then onto the world

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A fugitive verb

April 12, 2023

Very imperfectly caught, out of the corner of my ear, Amy Klobuchar (the senior US senator from Minnesota) being interviewed on MSNBC’s Morning Joe this morning:

was outbested by

Not yet able to recover the context (eventually the tape will be available for viewing), but it’s crucial for determining what AK was trying to convey by choosing the unusual verb outbest (rather than plain best or outdo).

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A reply to Martin on ambiguity

April 11, 2023

This paper from 40 years ago:

A.M. Zwicky & J.M. Sadock. 1984. A reply to Martin on ambiguity. Journal of Semantics 3: 249-256. DOI: 10.1093/Jos/

As I wrote yesterday (in my posting “In search of a paper of mine”), my own copy of this paper was inadvertently destroyed a few years ago, and I now wanted to add it to my extensive collection of my writings available through this blog. Specifically, my writings on the distinction between ambiguity and underspecification, a recurrent topic in my work in linguistics.

Several readers were able to more or less instantly extract pdf files of the text from their university libraries; Steve Anderson, using the Yale library, got in first; his is the one I reproduce below. I had hoped to use the Stanford library this way, but I’m an adjunct, not a real faculty member, here, and I couldn’t figure out how to do it.

(No doubt there are tricks to do this; please do not write to tell me how. I’m just barely getting from day to day, so I’m going to take any easy way out, which in this case was appealing to my colleagues. Who responded splendidly. I should add that quite a few of my readers offered to get hold of physical copies one way or another, scan them in for me, and then e-mail me the files, — very sweet offers, but clearly hugely more onerous than downloading a file.)

The text, below. I will add a link to this posting in my “publications (in .pdf files)” Page on this blog.

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In search of a paper of mine

April 10, 2023

I’m trying to get a copy of

A.M. Zwicky & J.M. Sadock. 1984. A reply to Martin on ambiguity. Journal of Semantics 3: 249-256. DOI: 10.1093/Jos/

that I can not only read, but also also save on this blog so that it continues to be available to me and to my readers (as most of my other publications are).

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Auriculas

April 9, 2023

It starts with a Jacquie Lawson e-card “Auricula Theatre”, sent to me by Benita Bendon Campbell for Easter. The auriculas in question are cultivars of Primula auricula (aka the mountain cowslip or bear’s ear), a species of primrose.

The final image of the e-card:


(#1) On the left, the Auricula Theatre

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Kentucky country ham

April 9, 2023

An exercise in nostalgia (much transformed) for Easter lunch today: sandwiches of slices of Kentucky country ham — KCH for short — and melted cheddar cheese. The nostalgia is in the ham:


(#1) Thinly sliced ham from Broadbent B & B Foods in the little country town of Kuttawa KY (in Lyon County in far (south)western Kentucky)

To come: on country ham the compound noun and country ham the foodstuff; on my personal history with KCH (associated in my household with Christmas rather than Easter); and on the Broadbent company.

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A toast to Liana Finck

April 8, 2023

… on the occasion of her being among the winners of 2023 fellowships from the John Simon Guggenheim Memorial Foundation, announced on 4/5. From the list:

in General Nonfiction: Liana Finck, Writer, Brooklyn, New York; Adjunct Associate Professor, Department of English, Barnard College

LF came to me first as the creator of extraordinary cartoons for The New Yorker magazine; there is a Page on this blog devoted to my postings about these cartoons. But there’s lots more, some of which I’ll cover below, in a somewhat haphazard look at her career. I’ll start with an appreciation of one of her NYer cartoons, in one of these postings, from 10/31/17: “Three kinds of cartoon”:


(#1) Liana Finck in the 5/8/17 New Yorker: two worlds intersect on the street

Christian evangelism meets recycling. To understand Finck’s cartoon … , you need to recognize the formula “Have you heard the good news?” as part of a routine of public evangelism, especially by Mormons and Jehovah’s Witnesses, going door to door or appealing to people in public places, including on the street. In an expanded form:

Have you heard the good news (about (our Lord) Jesus Christ)? (He is/has risen (from the grave).)

You also need to recognize the two characters in the cartoon as plastic water bottles — not at all difficult — and — more difficult — also recognize the symbol

(#2)

as a symbol of recycling, and in addition understand that “recycling is the process of converting waste materials into new materials and objects” (Wikipedia). That is, in recycling, material metaphorically dies (when it is discarded) and then, if recycled, is reborn — metaphorically rises from the dead.

If you’ve got all that, you can appreciate the cleverness in having evangelical water bottles spreading the good news about how water bottles have been resurrected (via the miracle of recycling).

About LF. A portrait of the artist (born 1986):


(#3) photo: Ilya S. Savenok

Meanwhile, some details of her work on her home page. Among her projects is an advice column, Dear Pepper, maintained on her Instagram page. A recent notice from her there:

(#4)

And then the books.

— from Amazon.com on A Bintel Brief: Love and Longing in Old New York by Liana Finck (Ecco paperback, 2014); publisher’s blurb:

In an illustrative style that is a thrilling mash-up of Art Spiegelman’s deft emotionality, Roz Chast’s hilarious neuroses, and the magical spirit of Marc Chagall, A Bintel Brief is Liana Finck’s evocative, elegiac love letter to the turn-of-the-century Jewish immigrants who transformed New York City and America itself.

A Bintel Brief “A Bundle of Letters” — was the enormously popular advice column of The Forward, the widely read Yiddish language newspaper begun in 1906 New York. Written by a diverse community of Eastern European Jewish immigrants, these letters spoke to the daily heartbreaks and comedies of their new lives, capturing the hope, isolation, and confusion of assimilation.

Drawn from these letters — selected and adapted by Liana Finck and brought to life in her appealing two-color illustrations — A Bintel Brief is a tour of Lower East Side New York, and includes an imaginative conversation with the Yiddish “Dear Abby,” Abraham Cahan, The Forward’s legendary editor and creator of the Bintel Brief column.

From premarital sex to family politics to struggles with jobs and money, A Bintel Brief is an enlightening look at a segment of America’s rich cultural past that offers fresh insights for our own lives as well.

— on Passing for Human: A Graphic Memoir by Liana Finck (Penguin Random House, 2018), the publisher’s blurb from their site:

In this achingly beautiful graphic memoir, Liana Finck goes in search of that thing she has lost — her shadow, she calls it, but one might also think of it as the “otherness” or “strangeness” that has defined her since birth, that part of her that has always made her feel as though she is living in exile from the world. In Passing for Human, Finck is on a quest for self-understanding and self-acceptance, and along the way she seeks to answer some eternal questions: What makes us whole? What parts of ourselves do we hide or ignore or chase away — because they’re embarrassing, or inconvenient, or just plain weird — and at what cost?

Passing for Human is what Finck calls “a neurological coming-of-age story” — one in which, through her childhood, human connection proved elusive and her most enduring relationships were with plants and rocks and imaginary friends; in which her mother was an artist whose creative life had been stifled by an unhappy first marriage and a deeply sexist society that seemed expressly designed to snuff out creativity in women; in which her father was a doctor who struggled in secret with the guilt of having passed his own form of otherness on to his daughter; and in which, as an adult, Finck finally finds her shadow again — and, with it, her true self.

Melancholy and funny, personal and surreal, Passing for Human is a profound exploration of identity by one of the most talented young comic artists working today. Part magical odyssey, part feminist creation myth, this memoir is, most of all, an extraordinary, moving meditation on what it means to be an artist and a woman grappling with the desire to pass for human.

— Excuse Me: Cartoons, Complaints, and Notes to Self  by Liana Finck (Penguin Random House, 2019): over 500 cartoons from Instagram and The New Yorker

— on Let There Be Light: The Real Story of Her Creation by Liana Finck (Penguin Random House, 2022), the publisher’s blurb from their site:


(#5) The book cover

In this ambitious and transcendent graphic novel, Liana Finck turns her keen eye to none other than the Old Testament, reimagining the story of Genesis with God as a woman, Abraham as a resident of New York City, and Rebekah as a robot, among many other delightful twists. In Finck’s retelling, the millennia-old stories of Adam and Eve, Abraham and Isaac, and Jacob and Esau haunt the pages like familiar but partially forgotten nursery rhymes ― transmuted by time but still deeply resonant. With her trademark insightfulness, wry humor, and supple, moving visual style, Finck accentuates the latent sweetness and timeless wisdom of the original text, infusing it with wit and whimsy while retaining every ounce of its spiritual heft.

Let There Be Light is proof that old stories can live forever, whether as ancient scripture or as a series of profound and enchanting cartoons. The Book of Genesis is about some of the most fundamental, eternally pertinent questions that we can ask: What does it mean to be human? What is the purpose of our lives? And how should we treat one another? The stories that attempt to answer these questions are an immediate link with the people who first told them. Unable to fathom the holiness and preciousness of that notion, or put it into words, Finck set out to depict it. The result is a true story of creation, rendered by one of our most innovative creators.

Finale. Finck’s quirky sense of humor on display in a NYer cartoon from 2/25/13 exploiting the characteristics of the Slinky toy and the habits of the salmon:

(#6)