Entry: Andre the Giant Has a Posse

This kinda blew my mind. It was one of those instances where you see something, and you don't know what it is, and it turns out to be a random configuration of stuff that you already knew about. Although, if you know what molecules are, then pretty much everything falls into that category, but you're a smart group, I'm a lazy writer, you know what I mean.

So I had seen these stickers around in the public sphere, slapped to various large objects:



And I never paid them much mind. Until I stumbled upon the sticker's Wiki article! (Well, I didn't literally StumbleUpon the article, my friend and I were having a discussion about culture jamming and you don't care at all.)

Those stickers are a portrait of Andre the Giant (aka Fezzig from The Princess Bride), as created by Shepard Fairey (aka the guy who did the Obama "Hope" poster). And the "OBEY" is a reference to They Live (aka the movie with the guy with the crazy sunglasses). It's a crazy pop culture golem! My favorite kind of golem.

Entry: List of Music Genome Project attributes

Prepared to lose an entire afternoon to this one, space cadets.

Like all cool kids, I utilize Pandora now and then to expand my musical horizons. Oftentimes, however, I go to look up the attributes of my stations and have no idea what the hell any of them mean. For instance, I'm apparently really super into "extensive vamping." And, until I turned to the Wik', I had no idea what that was. Basically, it means I'm a simpleminded twit who likes to hear the same thing repeated many, many times in the span of four minutes or so. Also recurring: "major key tonality" AND "minor key tonality." I'm such a fencesitter.

But perhaps your taste in music is overly specific, and you've wondered to yourself: what other musical attributes that I don't care for are floating around in the aether? Thanks Wiki. You've really outdone yourself this time.

Here are some highlights:

"Backbeat Hand Claps." Specifically hand claps. No drums, no footstomping.
"Blazin' Rappin'"/"Tight Lyrics". Perhaps my dorkiness is preventing me from understanding exactly what this term means, but doesn't that seem a little subjective for something calling itself a "Genome Project"?
"Lyrics with Heavy Erotic Content". Is there a subgenre of this that I don't know about? Don't get me wrong, I'm hip, I listen to Serge Gainsbourg... but I can't imagine not wanting to laugh my ass off at lyrics with heavy erotic content.
"Mystical Qualities". One of the backup singers is a unicorn, say.
"Sexist Lyrics". Okay, as a member of the group that usually gets the short end of the stick when it comes to sexism, I'm biased. But why the hell would someone actively seek this out as a quality of music?
"Use of Dirty-Sounding Organs". What, like a rectum?
"Vinyl Ambience". Just throwing it out there as a name for a drag queen act. Think about it, girls.


If anyone has any information as to which bands or songs embody the aforementioned, please let us know.

Entry: The Suckling

Take a few deep breaths.

Okay, good. Now, before I start this entry, be forewarned that it will discuss a specific controversial issue that usually starts a debate because everyone has a strong opinion about it, your humble blogger included. A debate that repeats other, similar debates before it, and a debate that never gets very far. In fact, I will recreate that debate here in the post for your convenience:

Commenter 1: I believe X!
Commenter 2: I believe ~X!
C1: ~X is wrong! Here is some rhetoric that supports my opinion!
C2: X is wrong! Here is some rhetoric that supports my opinion!
C1: There are logical fallacies in your reasoning.
C2: No, there are logical fallacies in YOUR reasoning.
Loop until the argument crumbles into personal attacks, and/or Godwin's Law comes into effect. Exuent COMMENTER 1 and COMMENTER 2, neither having changed their mind and both feeling that they have won.

There, the argument has been taken care of. No need for inflammatory comments. Moving on.

The Suckling is a 1989 horror film about a couple who seek an illegal abortion at a brothel (I guess it's a full-service establishment?). The fetus is exposed to toxic waste, and mutates into a murderous beast "complete with prehensile umbilical cord and hooked talons for hands", who "envelops the house in an enormous placenta and slaughters the inhabitants one by one."

Now, I know what you're thinking-- probably something along the lines of "Oh sweet Jesus, what kind of deranged mind would think such a film would be entertaining?"-- but I have to concede to the Wiki article itself for commentary:

As stated in the copy of one release of this film, "THE SUCKLING has been compared to Alien for its claustrophobic intensity and Die Hard for its non-stop action." Given the film's low budget and technical flaws, discerning filmgoers may disagree.

I have never read a more tactful criticism on a website.

What was bugging me, besides the subject matter, was the title. A suckling is, according to Wiktionary, "a young mammal which isn't weaned yet." So I guess it's technically correct, seeing as something that hasn't been born hasn't been weaned yet, but that can't be the correct usage of the term. And yes, I realize that I'm splitting hairs considering it's a movie in which a whorehouse is covered by a giant placenta, but they should have stuck with the alternate title: Sewer Baby.

Entry: Lynda Barry

I like to think that TILfW is generally a merry little blog, hewn from the sturdy wood of open-source encyclopedia articles and varnished with my weak attempts at humor. Its very concept is propelled by the sense of nerdish glee felt upon learning something interesting, and the resulting questions that crop up from wondering about said interesting fact.

Sometimes, however; sometimes learning can be a painful experience.

I had recently been rereading Lynda Barry's autobiographical graphic novel One! Hundred! Demons!, which I highly recommend if you're into that sort of thing, and went on the Wik' to find out more about her.

Apparently she and Ira Glass were a couple at one time. Initially kinda interesting, but then I found this in one of the footnotes, a quote from an article from some journal that doesn't change what it says according to the whims of random yahoos with a wifi signal (ie. a "reliable" source):

Barry does not remember the relationship fondly. The louse in her excellent One! Hundred! Demons! story "Head Lice and My Worst Boyfriend" has been identified as Ira Glass. She is quoted in a 1998 Chicago Reader article as saying of Glass, "I went out with him. It was the worst thing I ever did. When we broke up he gave me a watch and said I was boring and shallow, and I wasn't enough in the moment for him, and it was over." Glass confirms, "Anything bad she says about me I can confirm."

My reality was shattered. Okay, not shattered, but the world seemed a little sadder and duller upon this discovery.

See, I'm sort of in love with him. Googling "crush on Ira Glass" yields 2,170 hits, which makes me feel less alone. He does appeal to the nerdy girl's sensibilities: smart, articulate, quirky, good listener, works for a nonprofit, wears funny glasses. I listen to the This American Life podcast every week, of course. I imagine Ira and I drinking chai lattes and browsing through flea markets, while he regales me with interesting stories unified around a theme; sometimes our friends David Sedaris and Sarah Vowell would be there too, and coincidentally have their own anecdotes to contribute. But this is apparently never going to happen (besides the fact that he's significantly older than me and lives halfway across the country and is married and probably not into girls who live with their parents) because he is a jerk. Or at least he was a jerk in the Eighties.

I'm too heartbroken to pick on the article author for his or her awkward use of "confirm."

Entry: No Name Key

There is a small island that is part of the Florida Keys known as No Name Key, and its existence is driving me up a wall. The island is named for the fact that it doesn't have a name! What kind of postmodern geography bullshit is that? The kind that angries up the blood, I'll tell you that much.

To No Name Key's credit, however, it does provide a home to an adorable subspecies of white-tailed deer, known as Key Deer. Not No Name Deer, and thank the gods for that, because I would have thrown my laptop across the room in a fit of semiotic rage.

Entry: *thhbbbpppt*

It's my birthday, so y'all should amuse your damn selves. I've got some very important drinking to do.

Entry: ...oh my.

My friend Pooka, of Art History, LOL, texted me with a request to write about Today's Featured Article. I figured if he sent me a text, it was pretty important. So I sat down to write about it, and...

...oh my. Pooka, you dirty bird! Tsk tsk!

I try to keep this blog family friendly, but this is a too neat to pass up. So be warned, the post contains naughty language and discussions of extramarital dalliances. If you are under 18, reader, ask your parents if you can continue reading this post. And, um, while you're at it, why don't you recommend that they start reading my blog? In fact, ask permission from all your friends. And link me on your Myspace page.

There now, back to business.

In cities throughout the British Isles, there are streets that were originally named Gropecunt Lane. I know!

The information in the article is, frankly, not very surprising. "Gropecunt, the earliest known use of which is in about 1230, appears to have been derived as a straightforward compound of the words grope and cunt...Although the name was once common throughout England, changes in attitude resulted in its being replaced by more innocuous versions such as Grape Lane." The interesting thing is that the article never definitively states that it was the name of the red light districts of medieval England, even though it does bring up that

"Organised prostitution was well established in London by the middle of the 12th century... the practice was often tolerated by the authorities, and there are many historical examples of it being dealt with by regulation rather than by censure: in 1393 the authorities in London allowed prostitutes to work only in Cocks Lane..." (Teehee!)

And

"It was normal practice for medieval street names to reflect their function, or the economic activity taking place within them (especially the commodities available for sale), hence the frequency of names such as The Shambles, Silver Street, Fish Street, and Swinegate (pork butchers) in cities with a medieval history."

However, we can only assume that, in a culture with regulated prostitution and streets named for economic activity, Gropecunt Lane might have been where the whores hung out. Maybe.

I can just imagine what the conversation might have been like:

Londoner of Yore: Welcome to our towne, wanderer! Pray, shall I give thee a tour?
Traveler: Aye, 'twould be most helpful!
LoY: Sirrah, here be Butcher Street, 'tis where ye may buy a side of beef. And this is Cooper Gate, where barrels be sold. And this is Gropecunt Lane!
Traveler: Ah, 'tis where a man might pay a shilling for some time with a strumpet!
LoY: Nay, the devil take your sinful tongue! 'Twas named for the parson Nigel Gropecunt, and is where we go to pray and mend the bindings on our Bibles!
Traveler: ...'kay.

Seems likely.

Entry: The Monster at the End of This Book: Starring Lovable, Furry Old Grover

(Before I start the post, it's only fair to warn you that it contains spoilers for The Monster at the End of This Book. I give away the ending. If this is a problem, visit the children's section of your local library before continuing.)

One thing I hear a lot is, "OMG, Regina, you're so pretentious." All the freaking time! Even more often than "Ma'am, you're making a scene."

And, okay, it is kind of true. Every cultural object I love is meta-this and post-that. And I thought it all started in college, or maybe late high school, when I saw Being John Malkovich and it opened my eyes to a whole new world of highly theoretical intellectual masturbation. And if it features John Cusack in some way, so much the better.

The Wik', however, has proven me wrong. My love of post-modernism apparently extends back to early childhood.

When I was a wee child, and the family computer was only useful for playing Reader Rabbit, one of my favorite books was The Monster at the End of This Book: Starring Lovable, Furry Old Grover. We probably owned a copy of it, but my memory situates me in my pediatrician's waiting room, reading it with my mom. I liked Grover, probably because he was the only creature in existence more neurotic than I. (Well, okay, Telly could have probably benefited from the occasional benzodiazepine tablet too.)

Anyway: the Wikipedia article describes The Monster at the End of this Book as a "post-modern children's book" that is self-reflexive; Grover is conscious of the fact that he is a character in a book (he tries to stop the reader from turning the page by tying the pages together). I guess you could also argue that since it ends with the reader and Grover confronting the monster at the end of the book-- which turns out to be Grover himself-- thus forcing Grover to accept his identity as a monster, it is a sort of bildungsroman as well. Although, he doesn't really age during the course of the book. An $80,000 liberal arts education put to use, ladies and gentlemen.

I was so excited to have one of my favorite books growing up put in this light. Next time I'm at a party drinking PBR from a keg and feeling insecure because I'm not dressed like I got attacked by a Goodwill, I'll be sure to smugly mention the fact that I've been into metafiction since I could read.

That, and I was totally into Rilo Kiley way before they got all mainstream.

Commons: Picture of the Year/2008

Okay, so this entry is technically cheating, since it's from Wikimedia Commons-- doesn't that sound like a delightful spot to go a-picknicking? "Oh do come down to Wikimedia Commons with us, Millicent! Grace has assembled a delightful basket for our dinner, and the Kensington boys shall play bowls and fence for our amusement!"-- ahem, as I was saying: Wikimedia Commons.

The article I was looking at was the results of Picture of the Year 2008. The entries were the year's featured pictures, and the voting body were users from the various Wikimedia projects, including my reason for existing on this planet, Wikipedia.


One would expect that the top ten photos would be images from great scientific and historic occurrences and far-flung locales frozen in time and put on the Internet for the benefit of those of us who, for whatever reason, are probably never going to be privy to such sights in reality. Most of the entries are really beautiful and intriguing photos. (First place: HORSIES! Second place: GUY BREATHING FIRE!)

But there was one picture on the top ten that really caught my attention. Cooler than a fountain of pahoehoe lava spurting from a Hawaiian volcano. More dramatic than a burning building in Quebec. More iconic than Dorothea Lange's photos of migrant workers during the Great Depression.

What was this amazing picture that captured the hearts and minds of Wikimedia users the world over, gaining the #7 slot?

A scantily-clad anime girl. Comma, you hopeless pack of nerds. Wikimedia users: turn the computer off, sit in the corner, and think about what you've done.

Entry: Shark Attack 3: Megalodon

You guys, this is my 100th post! I'm very excited, because my typical approach to projects is something along the lines of "Hey, I wanna be a lepidopterist! No, I wanna build a model train town! No, I wanna run for mayor of a sparsely-populated town in Montana!" and then I end up spending the night drinking beer and watching cartoons. But I've actually stuck with this. Pat on the back to me!

Additionally, a pat on the back to everyone who has read and supported this blog. Without you guys, I might as well just be talking at a blank wall. But instead, I talk at a blank wall when I'm done blogging. Your comments keep me writing, and promoting TILfW on your websites has taken my readership from nobody to a hair under three-thousand unique visitors in the past month. The fact that there's an audience out there for my half-baked, self-consciously twee ramblings means the world to me. It really does.

Okay, on to the entry.

Thanks to my friends Matt and Jess, whom I have known since high school and still talk to me for some reason, I've gained an appreciation for really awful movies. If the phrase "GARBAGE DAY!" means anything to you beyond taking out the trash, you know exactly what kind of movies I'm talking about. So when I came across this ridiculous clip on YouTube:



I had to know more. "...what?" is right.

Shark Attack 3: Megalodon is, um, the third in the Shark Attack series. It was released direct to DVD-- I know, I'm surprised too-- in 2002. Yes, 2002. Yes, with those special effects.

There's a very long plot summary, which is flagged as being both "too long or detailed compared to the rest of the content" and "[describing] a work or element of fiction in a primarily in-universe style." I didn't even bother. Giant shark, eats people. Moving on. Surely such a ridiculous and low-budget movie has an equally pathetic cast of talentless nobodies?

Not exactly. The protagonist is played by none other than consummate sexypants John Barrowman, aka Captain Jack Harkness from Dr. Who and Torchwood. There was much wailing and gnashing of teeth when I learned that, I can tell you, especially when I found the YouTube video of the jewel in Shark Attack 3's crown of suck.

Note: the above link is NSFW. I will bowdlerize the quote below for your convenience.

Cataline Stone: *sigh* I'm exhausted.
Ben Carpenter: Yeah, me too. But you know, I'm really wired. What do you say I take you home and [stimulate your vulva with my mouth].

One would assume that this was just a prime example of depressingly terrible screenwriting, lay the blame squarely on cocaine, and move on with one's day. But no, friends. No. According to the Wik', the line was an improvisation on Barrowman's part, with the intention of cracking up his co-star, that was left in the final cut. It stands to reason that whatever line had been in the script to end the scene, the above was considered the preferable dialogue.

I'll leave you with that to muse on.

Entry: Gullibility

Sorry for my tardiness in updating, I've been a combination of busy, distracted, uninspired, and sans Internet. Ever onward.

Last night, one of my "friends" took advantage of my trusting nature for the sake of entertainment and told me that "gullible" is not in the dictionary. You'll be happy to know that I did not run to look it up. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me several times... still shame on you.

It did, however, lead me to wonder if there was a Wikipedia article on "gullibility" and if it mentioned the joke. As it turns out, gullible is not on Wikipedia.

No, it's really not.

No, really, click on the damn link. It's not there.

See, would-be mockers, the Wik is on my side.

Entry: Scientology

The Wik' has found itself in news headlines once again, after deciding to ban the IP addresses of both the Church of Scientology and some of its more biased and outspoken Wiki-critics for engaging in editing wars. I'm going out on a limb here and linking to a non-Wiki news article about the incident from wired.com.

Hush now, Church of Scientology; dry your eyes. I know what you're going through. I remember the fateful day at a former job where I tried to edit an article's grammar only to find that the IP I was using had been banned because someone else had been making inappropriate edits to the Dragonball Z article. I felt frustrated and sad and totally confused, because I don't think any of my coworkers could have even told you what Dragonball Z is, let alone find a reason to edit the Wiki article. And, of course, I think you guys are a complete scam and the fact that you use the legal system to bully your critics is disgusting, so while I don't feel sorry for you in the least, I can relate.

Entry: Baader-Meinhof phenomenon

This is one of those things that requires theremin-heavy music in the background.



That'll do. Read on.

I StumbleUpon-ed the Baader-Meinhof phenomenon article this afternoon. The Baader-Meinhof phenomenon, something I'm sure everyone's experienced at least once, is that bizarre synchronicity whereupon you learn something for the first time and then hear about it again a short time later. The term itself was coined by someone writing an editorial in the St. Paul Pioneer Press about experiencing the B-M P; their readership responded overwhelmingly with similar stories.

I was glad to know that this is apparently a Thing, but didn't think I was going to write about it... until tonight! David Malki of Wondermark notoriety had Twittered about using the Valsalva maneuver; I made note of the unfamiliar phrase, but antithetical to my nature, did not Wiki it. I know, I'm disappointed in myself too. But then, not an hour later, I was goofing around on the Straight Dope, and Cecil Adams explained the very same Valsalva maneuver in the article I was reading! And, the Valsalva maneuver just happens to be exhaling forcibly with your mouth and nose closed to clear your ear canals, which I do all the damn time because my inner ear bits get congested especially during allergy season!

Baader-Meinhof phenomenon! Spooky stuff!

Entry: Pinkerton National Detective Agency

I've rearranged TILfW for the new year, but I used to have a blurb in the side column about how one of these days you'll be on Jeopardy and remember something you've read in this blog.

And tonight it came true. One of the questions was "What is Burma Shave?", and none of the contestants knew it. Nobody even buzzed in. Of course, I was yelling "BURMA SHAVE! BURMA SHAVE!" at the tv, so I would have been wrong too because I didn't phrase my response as a question. But still! And it was Double Jeopardy, too. Reading Things I've Learned from Wikipedia can earn you money.*

Anyway.

So maybe you're a Deadwood fan, or a history buff, or just steampunk-as-Jove, but you might have heard of the Pinkerton National Detective Agency, usually shortened to "the Pinkertons." If you haven't: they were a well-known private detective agency in the 19th century, well known for foiling a plot to assassinate Lincoln (a plot, not the plot) and being hired to bring various Wild West Outlaws to justice.

Getting on to What I Learned:

1) On the more controversial side, they were hired in the late 19th and early 20th century to infiltrate unions, rough up (and/or murder) organizers, and protect scabs.
2) The Pinkerton National Detective Agency is still operating, though they have been taken over by another security agency.
3) Today, the Pinkertons are organized by the Services Employees International Union.

You know, if you ever need a good example of irony.


* Results not typical.

Entry: 2008

How cool is this: where I am (East Coast of the USA), it's 2 hours until midnight on New Year's Eve, and this is the (currently) first sentence of the entry for 2008:



Okay, so I trimmed it to the point where you can't tell it's from Wikipedia, but you guys believe me, right? Trustworthy stranger on the Internet? Yeah? Good.

It is so nice to know that there are dedicated Wiki nerds who have put aside culturally acceptable drunken bacchanals to keep the Wik' as accurate as possible. Kudos to you, friends. And here's to a great 2009, hopefully filled with largely useless factoids and dorky quips.

This blog is important to the nation's stability

I forgot to mention something: I was listening to a press conference with Barack Obama last week, and he was talking about how his family wants to adopt a shelter dog, but one of his daughters is allergic and requires a hypoallergenic breed.

Mr. President Elect, TILfW is here to help.

(Yes, I realize he's probably had an aide figure all of this stuff out for him already. Shut up, I'm awesome.)

Entry: List of legendary creatures

I've recently decided to update this blog on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, so imagine my concern when I realized it was midnight and I had bupkis. Lucky for me, if I haven't randomly stumbled upon something neat on Wikipedia, there's a button on my toolbar that expedites the process.

The first thing I came across-- every post is a quality post at TILfW-- was the List of legendary creatures, and I was completely distracted by this explanation at the beginning of the list:

"This is a list of legendary creatures. Creatures of modern invention are not included. Only creatures with English Wikipedia articles should be included.

Species or entirely unique, individual monsters are included, not individuals of a particular species. For example, Pegasus should not be included, as he is an individual of (and the progenitor of) the pterippus species, while Scylla is included as she is a one-of-a-kind monster."

I really love that there are such exacting rules for something so random. Although, I'm really glad that they mention Pegasus' species. It really bugs me when people use "Pegasus" to refer to a random winged horse not involved with Bellerophon. Y'know, while we're on the subject of exacting rules for something random.