Yarn Bomb

When I went to one of our local libraries recently, I saw this on the way in:

Since I try to take oddities in stride -- that, or I'm a bit slow -- I said to myself, "Oh, what a nice pole-warmer for that lamp post," and went on my merry way.

But then I saw that there were also tree-trunk warmers. In fact, everything had a warmer. And the book return had a very large hat and scarf. For a moment I wondered whether I was about to be picked up by someone's hijacked Infinite Improbability Drive and turned into a yarn creature.

After the book return was sorted into Ravenclaw, I noticed something intriguing behind it -- something of a slightly higher quality that the simple tubes covering everything in the vicinity that a tube can be made to cover. It was a very impressive feat of knitting.

I later happened upon the library's website and saw that they had been yarn-bombed. I am not clear as to the purpose or advantage of yarn-bombing, particularly when it seems to involve mainly putting tubes on things, but the Alice in Wonderland lamp post cover was so remarkably excellent that I made a special trip back with my camera just so you could all admire it. Well done, knitters!

Perplexing

A few years ago, I bought a couple of platters. They are very cheap plastic, coated with silver paint or what you coat plates with. They're extremely plain and rather poor quality. It turned out I didn't need them for the thing I bought them for, and I've never needed them since. Every time I've thought, "Oh, maybe I can use those cheapo silver platters for this," they don't work for some reason. It has happened so often that I've only ever washed one of them, and never inspected the other. Well, I went through this whole process again this week, and I thought I might need both, so I got them down from above the fridge, and finally washed the second one. When I turned it over, I saw this curious statement printed on the back:

Oops! My mistake! When I bought this platter, I thought it was a platter. But apparently it's a plastic silver disc for decorative use only. The kicker is, this helpful warning isn't printed on the back of the other one, so I could have poisoned all of my friends and family by serving them cookies off of something platter-shaped that wasn't really a platter. What would possess a company to manufacture a serving dish that can't be used as a serving dish? Not to mention that I find it hard to believe that eating off of this would hurt you. My desk isn't a serving dish either, but I bet if I ate spaghetti directly off of it, I wouldn't suffer any ill effects. What is this platter made of that makes it so specifically unsuitable for food? Plasticized arsenic?

Fortunately for me, the same thing happened that always happens: I realized in the end that I didn't need them anyway. I think this time I might just throw them out. I have no decorative needs requiring two plastic silver discs.

OEDissimi

The reference department has recently resurrected its blog, and a few days ago, a co-worker stopped at my cubicle and asked if I thought a post on the Oxford English Dictionary would be a good idea. I did. Then she asked if I would like to write it. Is the Pope crazy? Of course I would. But before I wrote it, I thought I ought to explore it a little more thoroughly so I would sound like I knew what I was talking about. And that's how this blog post came about. Not the one for work -- I still have no idea what to write for that. But this blog post that you are about to read about obselete insults.

You see, the OED has this magnificent feature called "Categories." They work the same way as the wonderful reverse dictionary my mother gave me many years ago -- you can choose a topic, and then look at hundreds or thousands of words that relate to that topic. You can pick categories by subject, usage, region, or origin. For example, say you want to know what specialized terms might be used in reference to clocks. You go to the Crafts and Trades category, click on Clocks and Watches, and there you are! 482 words about clocks!

It's amazing! It's so useful! Because you can't look up a word when you don't know what it is. Except now you can. Thank you, good people at the OED. I love you.

So, armed with this new method of research, what did I immediately look up? Words relating to Agriculture and Horticulture? Words that came into English from Aleutian? Rare words?

No. I went right for insults. (Naturally, there was a category for it.) And that is where I found about twelve thousand derogatory ways to refer to Whigs. Whigs have been around since the 1600s in various forms, and I don't know much about them. I can't imagine every party that ever called itself Whig held all the same beliefs, and I don't even know what those beliefs would be. What I do know is that it's a word that lends itself beautifully to a variety of delightful endings.

• Whiggarchy or Whigocracy: government by Whigs
• Whiggify or Whiggize: to make Whiggish
• Whiggification: the process of making Whiggish
• Whiggissimi: extreme or absolute Whigs (coined by Jonathan Swift)
• Whiggological: relating to Whig principles
• Whiggery: Whig principles or practices
• Whiglet or Whigling: a small or petty Whig
• Whigship: the personality or quality of a Whig
• Whigster: a Whig

Three centuries this ridiculous word survived in common use. It originally comes (probably) from whiggamaire, from whig (to urge your horse onward) and mere (usually the sea or water, but more likely here, a boundary or border). In the late seventeenth century, a gang of Presbyterians marched across Scotland into Edinburgh and took over the government -- an event referred to as "the Whiggamore raid." Or possibly "road" because you can never tell what vowels Scots are trying to say. So, the word has been derogatory since the beginning. It surprises me a bit that any party wouldn't mind making themselves such easy targets, but I guess that's politics for you.

What Ivan would like you to know about the difference between manatees and dugongs

Manatees drink only billy tea and snack on mudbugs with a side of sweet chilli sauce
True story.
Dugongs eat more refined things
Only a savage would drink billy tea
Manatees
Geez

It's my fault for telling her that she should write a post about dugongs, and that it "need not be factual."

Leap Day

This is not a Leap Day-related post. I'm not sure what a Leap-Day related post would involve, except maybe writing about things I do every four years, like wash my car. Which is not interesting. So let's move on. I have things to share about the birthday present that I got from Ivan a couple of weeks ago.

Let's begin with this story about the tea she sent: "Bush tea: a surly tour guide made us some of this by putting it in a metal tin and attaching the tin to a chain. He then swung it around his head 10 times. It was so obvious he hated his job I bought some of the tea. It was good tea." I can only assume that after you drink it, you're immune to bitterness and dissatisfaction. Because it all got sucked into the tour guide.

There was also this terrifying creature, of which Ivan says: "Befana: Italian Christmas witch - who needs Santa when a hideous hag can enter your home to leave gifts! You don't even need to feed her cookies! Win! I found her at the Piazza Navona Xmas fair - she was the only one that didn't scream 'MADE IN CHINA' so I instantly fell in love."

Ivan's closing admonition: "Cherish her." Thanks, Ivan. She's hanging from my ceiling where she is certain to scare away evil spirits, burglars, and probably all my friends.

Last but not least, it's been too long since we spoke of dugongs. Have we ever spoken of dugongs? I'd be surprised if we haven't, for Ivan is slightly obsessed with them. I'm convinced the sole reason she went to Australia was to see dugongs, and perhaps to purchase this stuffed animal:

Please note that this is a dugong and NOT a manatee. I called it a manatee by accident and Ivan DID NOT LIKE THAT. Matt called it a "grumpshunk," however, and that amused her to no end, so frankly I feel she was a bit harsh with me. I was much closer than Matt was.

Ivan explained all the other presents, but all she wrote about the dugong was this:

Dugongs, they are self-explanatory.

Thank you for these and all the other delightful things, Ivan! I will cherish them.

Warning: Never Drink With a Sicilian

Adam has a nose for Princess Bride memorabilia. I have quite a collection, thanks to him.

But this amazing find pretty much takes the cake.

This is a bottle of wits. Flavor: As You Wish White.

It is iocane free . . . most likely.

Ivan, next time you're home, let's find out who is right

and who is dead.

Thanks, Adam!

Mr. Blue

Mr. Blue

Don't hold your head so low

that you can't see the sky

Turns out this is from a song called "Mr. Blue" by Catherine Feeny.

I learn things in the library.

Two people liked your wall post.

Literally.

Little known fact about Satan.

He's a big reader.

Happy Valentine's Day?

Something needs to be done about the rising rate

of hypocrisy in the slut population.

Monopoly

I've lost this game too many times to like it, but the Monopoly exhibit at the Museum of Play was really cool. The original 1933 board, hand-drawn by Charles Darrow, was round. It is extremely surreal to see the familiar illustrations on this board, just slightly different.

The original chance cards were not quite as decorative.

I do so love small things made big (in addition to big things made small).

The Landlord's Game was the precursor to Monopoly. It was patented by Elizabeth Magie, who hoped it would demonstrate the inherent problems in a system of land ownership in which rich people own everything and rent bits of it to poor people. This kind of game was popular in the early twentieth century, and people even made their own boards at home. The exhibit noted that Ivy League students played it, but changed the rules so that the winner was the person who could get the most money.

Probably the reason I never liked it is I'm basically a socialist.

The Harsh Truth

A little while ago, Simon P. told me she had gotten engaged (!); a few days later we had this exchange over text:

Simon P.: I've just realized I will never marry Ari Shapiro.

Me: Ari Shapiro is gay. You never were going to marry Ari Shapiro.

Simon P.: BUT NOW IT'S SO REAL!

Don't worry, Simon P. You and Ari will always have NPR.

Toy Safari

When I was in fifth grade I did a project on Teddy Roosevelt. I remember this project with great fondness because I recreated the entire Roosevelt family in Playmobil form. As I recall, that was entirely unnecessary, but it was a lot of fun. I tied little nametags around their necks, and I remember looking sadly at Teddy's son Quentin and thinking, "Poor little Quentin, you're going to die in World War I and your father will never recover!" I was quite affected, for some reason, by the deaths of presidential children. I still get depressed when I think about Calvin Coolidge, Jr., who got a blister playing tennis with his brother, and died a week later from blood poisoning at the age of sixteen. Friends, always wear socks with sneakers. YOU COULD DIE OTHERWISE.

Anyway, the Museum of Play has this great Teddy Roosevelt action figure, for lack of a better term, which would have been really useful to me during that project.

Tiny Teddy Roosevelt

 Tiny Teddy Roosevelt's tiny lion and tiny hilarious hippo

The museum also has a collection of fantastic miniature animals, which also brings back childhood memories. I had a set of little plastic animals that I used to play with. They were the subject of my first epic story, which I'm pretty sure is lost to the ages, and thank goodness, because I think everyone had names like "Ella the Elephant," which is just humiliating. I am sure if I had had animals made with real fur, like these, I would have been inspired to give Ella a better name, and I'd probably be published by now. SIGH.

I don't know what this is. It looks like a cross between a hyena and a wild boar. 

Obviously the use of real fur in the creation of toys is inappropriate, BUT . . .

this camel is adorable and I want one. 

I'm not sure about these either. Wild boars? They don't have very piggy noses.
Bison crossed with bears? The lack of teeth an horns in this collection
makes the animals quite difficult to identify.

I believe these terrifying creatures are supposed to be slavering after human flesh,

but I think it looks more like they're surprised but DELIGHTED to see you!

I have all kinds of questions about what these animals are made of, and how, and why, and where they came from, but Margaret Woodbury Strong's collection is really just a "collection" and less of a "museum," in that they don't give much information about anything. I'd like to wander through with an antiques expert some time and see what it's really all about.

Updates on important matters

1. Here are some additions to my collection of library doodles:

2. I thought you would all like to know that the pillars on the Masonic temple (previously featured in this exciting post) have now been replaced with brand-new wooden, or more likely wood-covered, pillars that are shiny and lovely, and most importantly, match. My only complaint is that they're square, and I kind of miss the classic round pillars. But at least the roof isn't sagging anymore.

3. Our local Mary Kay representative seems to have traded in her pink Cadillac for a pink SUV of some kind. I hope this will prove marginally less embarrassing to her unfortunate son.

Miniatures!

The non-terrifying portion of Margaret Woodbury Strong's collection is the dollhouse portion. You may translate everything I say in this post as, "Aaaaaaaah look how wee!"

One thing I was never really interested in when it came to dollhouses, somewhat predictably, was the dolls. They can't stand up without help, they have to lean on things if they don't have stands. And stands look stupid.   Plus, they're never as realistic as the furnishings, so they kind of ruin the illusion. Having said that, I like the lady on the second floor. She is quite elegant.

I'd never seen a Spanish dollhouse before. Or is this Mexican? 

I should really learn to read the signs.

Tiny bed. Tiny mattress. Tiny pillow. I bet it once had tiny sheets, too.

I really enjoy kitchen fixtures from the 1930s for some reason -- both in miniature and full-sized. I think I have a refrigerator like that in my own collection, but it's been so long since I've looked through it that I can't quite remember. I'm sure my parents would love for me to find out . . . and then remove it all from their house.

I've composed a haiku concerning this tureen. Here it is:

Beautiful tureen

Color of cream and mustard

I'd buy you for real

This looks cozy. Back to that tureen though, isn't that a great tureen?
My god, what a tureen.

The lighting in this photo makes this room look, to me, weirdly real.

If only that doll weren't there, you'd never know it was a dollhouse.

SEE?! Dolls are stupid.

One dollhouse was just a huge room decorated like a nineteenth-century ballroom.

It was pretty much adorable, but not adorable enough for a haiku.

Bonus Doll

This doll is not in Margaret Woodbury Strong's collection. It's in the National Toy Hall of Fame, in a sort of tableau into which the museum has worked just about every possible toy. Which is fine. But what possessed them to represent the Statue of Liberty like this is a mystery that can't ever be solved.

Probable misquotation from Rich, guessing at the thought process behind this:

"I know! Let's wrap a harlot in a flag!"

I believe his theory to be correct. But I also believe it's not an inaccurate representation of this country's fundamental cultural values. So maybe they were making a statement.

Margaret Woodbury Strong's Slumbering Army

Remember that time when I went into the Museum of Childhood in Edinburgh and scared myself silly with old dolls? Well. If you'd like to replicate that experience for yourself, you don't have to go all the way to Scotland. You'll find all the terrifying dolls you need, in excess, in Margaret Woodbury Strong's doll collection.

Let's talk about Ms. Strong for a moment. She lived from 1897 to 1968. The Strong Museum website says that she was born into "a wealthy family of collectors," which makes me immediately think of the room in the Vanderbilt museum filled with thousands of inert marine animals floating in formaldehyde. By "inert," I mean "dead." That room is every bit as creepy and weird as it is marvelous and impressive. I picture Vanderbilt as having some kind of mania of accumulation, not in the sense of hoarding, but in the sense that he knew he had enough money to own everything on the planet, including nature itself, and he went about systematically acquiring it. There's a kind of collecting that seems to be particular to the very, very wealthy, and I believe a collection of twenty-seven thousand dolls falls into that category.

However.

Apparently when Strong got the idea for a museum, she was going to have it in a wing of her house, and it was going to be called, "The Margaret Woodbury Strong Museum of Fascination," and that name would have been quite accurate. The dolls are fascinating. Unfortunately, looking through my pictures, I discovered that I appear to have self-edited for the pretty dolls, and only took a few pictures of the most fascinating (i.e., horrifying) ones. The ones I have are decently horrifying, though. We'll work up to them.

Some of the dolls are quite beautiful.

Grace Kelly and the Prince of Monaco, in clothes that had to have been stitched by mice.

Henry VIII with Catherine Parr, one of the wives he neglected to murder
probably because he died first.

Please note the more-or-less anatomically-correct proportions of these dolls.

You won't be seeing that again for a while.

My, what long arms you have.

Oh . . . oh, dear.

These two are really rather exquisite. Look at his face! So expressive and perfect!
If only his wife didn't have that unfortunate witchy hue.

I have nothing snotty to say about this pair;

I think they're hilariously adorable.

On to the weirdness.

The head on the right wants to tell you that resistance is futile.
You will be assimilated.

The head on the left has no idea anything's wrong at all.

WHAT ON EARTH.

OH DEAR GOD.

Notice that the doll behind the addlepated human sphinx is looking at it very angrily.

I wouldn't want to share a glass case with that thing either.

Come to think of it, what with all the inert creatures in glass cases

this is very like Vanderbilt's, uh, Zoo of Death, if you will.

Can you imagine the horrors if they came alive and broke free

no wait let's not imagine that.

Of course this post is going to end with inappropriate uses of hair. Having been born in 1897, Margaret Woodbury Strong grew up in the heyday of inappropriate hair use. I made that up, I have no idea when the heyday of inappropriate hair use began and ended. But I know for a fact that it was going on when she was a child. Have a look at this charming photo of Strong as a little girl, with her beloved doll Mabel.

It's so much less cute when you discover, as the caption forces you to do, that Mabel had a wig made of Margaret's hair. I honestly think it's weird stuff like this that paved the way for the progressive income tax. Somebody had to curb the eccentricities of the wealthy when their inappropriateness began to reach egregious levels.

Butterfly Garden

The last time I went to the butterfly garden at the Strong Museum of Play, I was with Ivan and I did not have a camera. I have learned since then! But all I learned was to bring my camera; I haven't learned how to take good pictures, especially of butterflies. Are you aware of how infrequently butterflies sit still? I sure am. Most of my pictures look like this:

This is a red lacewing, not that you can tell.

Harumph. The turtles, however, were cooperative.

This spot is the best spot and no other spot will do.

Another 48 hours in here and he'll confess, trust me.

Since the butterfly garden is sweltering hot, it doubles nicely as a greenhouse. Otherwise they probably could not call it a garden. It would be a butterfly warehouse. Which no one would pay to see, especially if there was no soothing spa music playing. In the garden, they had a lot of orchids, as well as these flowers that I think might be a kind of shrimp plant, even though their bracts are green and their flowers aren't nearly as alien-looking as golden shrimp plants:

It's misleading because the bracts are green, like leaves.
They may be undercover.

They also had this strange round species of flower that was very attractive to butterflies:

That leaf is a butterfly, by the way. And some people doubt evolution, pffft!

I did manage to get one pretty nice butterfly shot, and a moth:

I can't figure out what these are and it's really annoying me.

Giant Owl (a confusing name, in my opinion)

A blue morpho landed on my shoe, which I seem to remember happening the last time, too. They must be the friendliest of all the butterflies, because I tried to hug several of the others, and they weren't having it.