Monthly Archives: November 2009

Scotland Yard Doesn’t Need No Stinkin’ Badgers!

Or maybe it does. 🙂

Apparently, Dark Horse has put out a graphic novel named Grandville, set in the Belle Epoque France of a parallel world inhabited by anthropomorphic animals. A horrible crime has taken place — so horrid that the Surete has asked for assistance from Scotland Yard. They send over their best badger — the relentless Inspector LeBrock!

Yes, I believe I am their target audience. Maybe I should get to a comics store.

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Rosary Term from the Andes

Apparently, the word in Spanish for rosary beads (at least in the New World) is “cuentas” (counters). Usually the word for a decade of the Rosary is something obvious like “decenario” or “decena”; but in Ecuador back then, it was a “casa” (house). I really like that.

I read this in a book called New Granada: Twenty Years in the Andes by one Isaac Farwell Holton, which I found by poking around in Google Books. He’s awfully nasty about Catholicism and the Rosary, and yet he goes into these matters in detail. Heh.

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How Not to Improvise a Shark Hunt

A true story from Uncle Jimbo’s Story Time.

He also tells us that Mr. Habu the Pit Viper is not your friend.

(These stories are also a good index for your military characters. Can you picture the main characters of Stargate: SG1 telling this story about Habu? Yes. Gibbs on NCIS? Yes. Even the guys on MASH? Yes. But the guys on Stargate Universe, or any of the stupid movies out lately? Not that I’ve ever noticed. And yet, the military seems to RUN on telling stories, probably more than any other profession today!)


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The Social Secretary Was Too Busy Socializing.

Which is fine, as long as you hire somebody reliable to do the actual work behind your social secretary job. But apparently, Mrs. Desiree Rogers didn’t believe in having anyone get the job done.

I’m really surprised that this policy didn’t come back on them before. I mean, there are literally hundreds of things that can go wrong at a party, and they are not usually something that the head honchos of an organization can ignore. A moment’s annoyance usually means plenty of flak. So the White House kitchen and house workers must be covering up for the incompetence and apathy of this administration’s staffers. (Either that, or they just fired the one faceless but competent underling who was keeping things running.)

I guess we’ll find out whether the First Lady cares more about her idle rich friend, or her defenseless children sleeping upstairs.

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Veils in Court: An Anecdote

From Curiosities of Law and Lawyers, by Croake James, 1899:

A Witness Told to Look a Judge in the Face

On the trial of Glengarry, in Scotland, for murder in a duel, a lady of great beauty was called as a witness. She came into court veiled. But before administering the oath, Lord Eskgrove, the Scotch judge (to whom administering the oath belongs in Scotland), gave her this exposition of her duty. “Young woman, you will now consider yourself as in the presence of Almighty God, and of this High Court. Lift up your veil, throw off all your modesty, and look me in the face.”

— Cockburn’s Memoranda, 122.


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Curiosities of Law and Lawyers by Croake James

This is a very funny book of historical anecdotes and unhistorical jokes about lawyers, published back in 1899. The very first story is a joke about how a lawyer managed to get into Heaven.

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“Goldtongue”: A Patristic Filk.

Copied from my Maria Lectrix podcast blog, and inspired by today’s patristic Thanksgiving selection by St. John Chrysostom. “Chrysostom” is a nickname. It means “gold tongue”. (In English, we tend to talk of someone being silvertongued, instead.) Here’s a very short resume of his career.

To the tune of “Goldfinger”:

Goldto-ongue –
He’s the man, the man with the honeyed words –
Not moneyed words.
His old tongue
Beckon you to break from your chains of sin,
But will he win?

Golden words he will pour in your ear,
But what’s true has to move past your fear.
For the Golden Horn’s lord knows his hyssop
Is a kiss-up’s death
From Bishop

Goldto-ongue –
Little men beware of his heart of gold –
Their hearts grown cold.

They don’t know real gold.
Lonely gold.
His word’s gold.
He speaks only gold.
Lonely gold.
His love’s gold!

One of my secret ambitions when starting the podcast was to write filks about the stuff I was reading, or the authors. I think this is just about the first time I’ve managed it.


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