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BACK SOON
I’m out of here for a time. Deepest thanks to readers, friends, News Ltd mates and fellow journalists who wrote, emailed, phoned, left messages, and posted their prayers and support. You’ve helped me through a tough week; hell, you softened that week right up into a fine weeky paste. That week got beat on hard.
See you soon, and no prying through my collection of antique bold tags while I’m out. I’ll know.
Richard McEnroe gives you: the millenium.
Hey, let’s celebrate like Admiral Penn!. Keepin’ it classy, Sean!
Thanks, Pogs.
Over one thousand comments. What is it the Bible says? There shall be signs and wonders . . .
#198
The sun was gone, and the dusk was creeping up the valley like the slow inflowing of the tide, when they broke at last and turned to fly. They streamed away, a tattered shadow of the host that had stormed across the stream in the late sunlight, seemingly so short a time ago; and as we swept after them, down to the ford, the single high note of a horn sounded once more, and Cei and his wild riders swept down upon them out of the far woods.
paco
Credits below:Produced by David Widger
Translated by John Ormsby
The book cover and spine above and the images which follow were not part
of the original Ormsby translation—they are taken from the 1880 edition of J. W. Clark, illustrated by Gustave Dore. Clark in his edition states that, “The English text of ‘Don Quixote’ adopted in this edition is that of Jarvis, with occasional corrections from Motteaux.” See in the introduction below John Ormsby’s critique of both the Jarvis and Motteaux translations. It has been elected in the present Project Gutenberg edition to attach the famous engravings of Gustave Dore to the Ormsby translation instead of the Jarvis/Motteaux.
The detail of many of the Dore engravings can be fully appreciated only by utilizing the “Enlarge” button to expand them to their original dimensions. Ormsby in his
Preface has criticized the fanciful nature of Dore’s illustrations; others feel that these woodcuts and steel engravings well match the Quixote’s dreams. D.W.This is probably the stunned mullet translation.
Posted by stackja1945 on 2008 01 26 at 11:58 PM • permalinkNow our new url then it is end key. When 2000? Come on get those carbons burning. Tempers fidgety. No tempus fugit.
Posted by stackja1945 on 2008 01 27 at 12:10 AM • permalink#238 Of course, stackja1945.
My edition is a Wordsworth and the lines I quoted (Woodsworth Book IV, chapter VII) were not, in any case, from page 123; they were chosen by me from the story of Anselmo, Lothario and Camilla because its hot! (The weather, not the quasi-cuckolding experiment essayed in the Novel of the Curious Impertinent). I note that Gutenberg’s translation of Lothario’s sonnet is very different. Your unrelated passage is from Chapter XXVII.
#198 From “Every Man His Own Mechanic: A Complete Guide for Amateurs”, the equivalent of the Readers Digest Home Handyman Book circa 1880.
“IN a large family, all things permitting, it is very desirable to have a couple of nice pigs in a suitable pigsty, or a “pig’s loose” as it is termed in Devonshire, for more reasons than one. Firstly, where many are housed under one roof it follows that there must be much waste in the stipping of vegetables, and much that must be thrown away. Secondly, pork from badly fed pigs is more or less unwholesome or undesirable as food; so by keeping a couple of pigs that can be killed when they have attained the weight of six or eight score, all the waste is saved and turned into wholesome meat, and those who have fed the pigs have the satisfaction of knowing that the pork which is placed before them is as good as it is possible for pork to be.”
But what do you tell the children?
Tell ‘em Hello Kitty is next if they don’t behave.
Posted by dean martin on 2008 01 27 at 12:27 AM • permalinkThe last time we went over 1000, didn’t the place blow up around 1034 or so? Waiting for doomsday.
Posted by dean martin on 2008 01 27 at 12:28 AM • permalinkKae, very funny on Bolta. “Carbon indulgences”. I’m stealing that.
Posted by ooh honey honey on 2008 01 27 at 12:30 AM • permalink#17 CL we learn something everday!
What happens when his Timship returns will we lose our learning caps?
#18 Rafe we must not pig out.Posted by stackja1945 on 2008 01 27 at 12:31 AM • permalink#17 C.L.: This talk of Quixote puts me in mind of one of the novel’s most famous admirers, Miguel de Unamuno, the recollection of whom reminds me of one of the most striking quotes from the great philosopher’s Tragic Sense of Life: “May God deny you peace, but grant you glory.”
With that, mis amigos, I bid you buenas noches! It’s bedtime for Paco.
Carbon indulgences like those other indulgences that got sold and led to a reformation?
paco gone now who watches the bold tags?Posted by stackja1945 on 2008 01 27 at 12:38 AM • permalinkVIA DRUDGE, check out Bill Clinton’s latest race-baiting. They really want Obama to be the BLACK candidate don’t they? Mind you, Obama is no victim. If he wasn’t the (potential) first BLACK PRESIDENT, on what else could he possibly base his campaign for this office?
This is apparently a genuine news article. At least, I heard it reported on the BBC.
Nilk - Two Hands: your time and money well saved.
And here’s another deceased notable.
Posted by SwinishCapitalist on 2008 01 27 at 12:46 AM • permalink#199 on page 2
There was a joke doing the rounds when I was in high school. The boys used to tell us that, if tyres were made out of the same material as a vagina, they’d never wear out.
Some things can take a licking.
Posted by Col. Milquetoast on 2008 01 27 at 12:55 AM • permalink#198 on page 4
from “Odd Man Out” by Carol Armstrong(C’est peu à peu qu’ilest venu au plein air, au vrai soleil ... qu’il a apporté un dessin pénétrant, épousant le caracère des êtres et des choses modernes, les suivant aubesoin avec une sagacité infinie dans leurs allures, dans leur intimité professionelle, dans le gesteet le sentiment intérieur de leur classe et leur rang” – La Nouvelle Peinture:32.) In introducing his quote from Diderot’s “Essai” (taken from the essay on drawing), Duranty writes, “In his Essai sur la peinture, at the end of the Salon of 1765, the great Diderot established ideal of modern drawing, the drawing of observation, drawing after nature.”
(I’m counting the fragment before the ellipsis as a sentence. typos are likely.)
Posted by Col. Milquetoast on 2008 01 27 at 12:56 AM • permalink...and trying to impress her by flexing his biceps.
Paco… *groan* he’s not still using that “you gots to look real close” line he stole from Robin Williams, is he?
Posted by richard mcenroe on 2008 01 27 at 12:57 AM • permalinkCheck out the cute image of Paddy that the Webmistress found to illustrate the page where we put Paddy’s Quadrant editorials on line before they had a site of their own.
#7 Pogs, Wilt and the South African books are my faves. Along with, yes, Ancestral Vices.
Those books are crying out loud with laughter funny - I know this because I’ve been in tears on the train to work reading them.
You get a few strange looks but it’s worth it.
Posted by Nilknarf Arbed on 2008 01 27 at 01:11 AM • permalink212 Winston picked his way up the lane through dappled light and shade
The lane widened, and in a minute he came to the footpath she had told him of, a mere cattle-track which plunged between the bushes. He had no watch, but it could not be fifteen yet. The bluebells were so thick underfoot that it was impossible not to tread on them. He knelt down and began picking some partly to pass the time away, but also from a vague idea that he would like to have a bunch of flowers to offer to the girl when they met. He had got together a big bunch and was smelling their faint sickly scent when a sound at his back froze him, the unmistakable crackle of a foot on twigs. He went on picking bluebells. It was the best thing to do. It might be the girl, or he might have been followed after all. To look round was to show guilt. He picked another and another. A hand fell lightly on his shoulder.
He looked up. It was the girl. She shook her head, evidently as a warning that he must keep silent, then parted the bushes and quickly led the way along the narrow track into the wood. Obviously she had been that way before, for she dodged the boggy bits as though by habit. Winston followed, still clasping his bunch of flowers. His first feeling was relief, but as he watched the strong slender body moving in front of him, with the scarlet sash that was just tight enough to bring out the curve of her hips, the sense of his own inferiority was heavy upon him. Even now it seemed quite likely that when she turned round and looked at him she would draw back after all. The sweetness of the air and the greenness of the leaves daunted him. Already on the walk from the station the May sunshine had made him feel dirty and etiolated, a creature of indoors, with the sooty dust of London in the pores of his skin. It occurred to him that till now she had probably never seen him in broad daylight in the open. They came to the fallen tree that she had spoken of. The girl hopped over and forced apart the bushes, in which there did not seem to be an opening. When Winston followed her, he found that they were in a natural clearing, a tiny grassy knoll surrounded by tall saplings that shut it in completely. The girl stopped and turned.Posted by stackja1945 on 2008 01 27 at 01:41 AM • permalink#226 page 4 (Bolta exposes Rudd’s cricket lies)
Rudd is now claiming he tried to talk Gilchrist out of retiring from cricket. It is more of that Labor the Soap. Pick a topical issue and write it into the plot.
Rudd is really struggling with this prime minister part. If he doesn’t lift his game, he will open his script one day and read: “Kevin’s VIP jet disappears during a mysterious trip to China just as a scandal emerges about his wife’s financial dealings. Ailing Julia is sworn in as prime minister in a moving bedside ceremony. In the middle of the ceremony, Julia sees her long missing mother, who has arrived just in time to donate the kidney Julia must have if she is to live. Meanwhile, Nicola prepares to marry her boyfriend and Wayne Swan gets a puppy.”
#31 Nilk,
One of my favourite past times when I used to ride Public Transport, was to read hilarious books like Tom Sharpe’s or comic strip books like Garfield and Footrot Flats.
I’d be in hysterics with tears running down my eyes, smearing my make up, nose running wildly. It was a great way of getting a whole seat to myself. Hardly anyone wanted to sit next to the froot loop!!!
I have never been afraid to laugh in public. What humanity needs right now is an ongoing series of Giant Belly Laughs. :)
Go away for a while and everything changes on you.
The threads are wild and overgrown, possibly concealing a race of genetically engineered supertrolls.
Blair has a botty tumour.(I blame the Kruddster for that)
Good luck Tim- my thoughts are with you.
#31- don’t forget Porterhouse Blue- one of the funniest books ever IMHO
Posted by eeniemeenie on 2008 01 27 at 02:22 AM • permalinkpogria—lyle’s kamikaze squirrel poem got me in trouble in the library once. I’m just sayin’...
Posted by richard mcenroe on 2008 01 27 at 02:24 AM • permalink#27 #35 invitro material? Or more in-your-face?
Posted by stackja1945 on 2008 01 27 at 02:30 AM • permalink#36 Over a thousand comments and we are still here. Meanwhile elsewhere at open_threadening we have 250+250+250+167=917
They are catching up.Posted by stackja1945 on 2008 01 27 at 02:41 AM • permalink#40 Pogria
What’d I say hit the road jack?
Ray Charles I think.Posted by stackja1945 on 2008 01 27 at 02:55 AM • permalink#198, page 4
Paco, here’s my contribution:
“There these girls were to live with other “half-castes” and to go to school, learning skills to help them to adapt to non-Aboriginal society. But the girls fled after one night and, in an amazing nine-week epic, walked home to Jigalong - all but Gracie, that is, who was found by police at Wiluna.
Craig’s feat made the papers but was not written up in full until 1996, when her daughter, Doris Pilkington, who was herself raised at Moore River, wrote the book, Beyond the Rabbit-Proof Fence, on which Noyce has based his film.”
JEEEZ PEOPLE! We let our national day go by and totally forgot this much-loved Australian icon!
Posted by SwinishCapitalist on 2008 01 27 at 03:58 AM • permalinkFar canal!
You spend all weekend slaving away for an international media conglomerate and this place turns into some sort of crazy literary salon.
It’s neither page 123, nor sentence 5, but…
Jesus, Jinx says.
He looks at my gun.
He looks at me.
He looks at my gun.
He looks at me.
Jesus Christ, he says.
No I tell him: Glock 19.
Run
Douglas E. Winter
Dean, re Alan Furst… Who knew Bulgaria circa 1934 could provide such fertile ground?#50 lotocoti this a crazy illiterate saloon if don’t mind.
Posted by stackja1945 on 2008 01 27 at 05:02 AM • permalinkkae, yes and the PKI is happy along with the media.
Posted by stackja1945 on 2008 01 27 at 05:05 AM • permalinkPogria Mac the knife Just a jack-knife has Mac-heath dear And he keeps it out of sight When the shark bites with his teeth dear Scarlet billows start to spread.
Posted by stackja1945 on 2008 01 27 at 05:08 AM • permalinkkae I am here back_soon2 and you are
there open_threadening
have we been conjoined?Posted by stackja1945 on 2008 01 27 at 05:17 AM • permalink#4/198
Posted this at my blog. For the folks here I have,
C. S. Friedman, A Feast of Souls
Andovan has done nothing to offend the southern Magister, and besides, it would have been just as easy for Colivar to kill him that night at the castle, after they had made arrangements to fake his death, as now. Why wait? And use such crude human tools, when sorcery could do the trick in perfect silence?
For contrast we have,
Kelly Armstrong, Broken
I looked up to see a short, sturdy figure under a dim streetlight. She wore a hooded cloak of some kind, high heels and a short skirt. Her back was to us.
Posted by mythusmage on 2008 01 27 at 05:47 AM • permalinkSuharto’s dead, and Kiwis are ugly.
Hey, I’m just reporting it.Posted by SwinishCapitalist on 2008 01 27 at 06:04 AM • permalinkAnd ffs, this is really the nanny state going over the top.
Posted by SwinishCapitalist on 2008 01 27 at 06:06 AM • permalinkOK, I’m madder than a cut snake—five paragraphs on Central Asian Migratory Patterns in the first ten centuries of the common era were swallowed by the net—I gotta post this before I go completely apoplectic.
I was just trying to do my bit to stave off the thread’s atroposification, I swear it!
What got me excited (and will probably interest no one else) was the reference below to the name “Keykhosrow” and the link I have drawn to SHÂHNÂMEH.
Let’s just say that if the internet had been around in 1984, that monograph I wrote would have got me more than a $4,000 tuition grant…
Kurdistan’s national anthem: Ey Reqîb
Oh Enemy
Oh enemy, the Kurdish nation is alive with its language
It cannot be defeated by the weapons of any time
Let no one say the Kurds are dead
The Kurds are alive
The Kurds are alive and their flag will never fallWe the youth are the red of the revolution
See the blood that we shed on the way
Let no one say the Kurds are dead
The Kurds are alive
The Kurds are alive and our flag will never fallWe are the children of the Medes and Keykhosrow
Our homeland is our faith and our religion
The Kurds and Kurdistan are our faith and religion
Let no one say the Kurds are dead
The Kurds are alive
The Kurds are alive and our flag will never fallThe Kurdish youth has risen like lions
To adorn the crown of life with blood
Let no one say the Kurds are dead
The Kurds are alive
The Kurds are alive and our flag will never fallThe Kurdish youth are ever present
And always ready to sacrifice their lives
Sacrifice every life they have, every life they have.By the poet Dildar (pen name; also known as Yonis Reuf, 1917-1948)
Translated by Brusk Chiwir ReshvanPosted by MentalFloss on 2008 01 29 at 05:20 AM • permalink
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#248: Well, Richard, I don’t know that Wronwright was exactly “unable” to stop him. I believe at the time Tim legged it, Wron was down in the cafeteria buying Nurse Heartbottom some platypus fritters, and trying to impress her by flexing his biceps.