Monday, January 15, 2007
My current post is at a newly-established research centre investigating various aspects of language and deafness. Non-signing staff are (very strongly) encouraged to learn BSL and use it regularly, not only to gain familiarity with the language they're researching, and to allow them to converse with participants in their sign language experiments, but also, especially, to provide a more inclusive atmosphere for deaf members of staff (it's great to have intepreters around, but impossible for interpreters to cover every conversation). Of course this includes everyday topics of idle conversation (Celebrity Big Brother, yesterday's darts championship and just why in hell I'd waste my time watching it, weekend/holiday activities, and so on) and ordinary day-to-day practical work-related stuff (what's wrong with the printer, when is everyone free for the next meeting, does anyone have a contact in research administration who can explain the new budget system, would people please remember to flush, and so on). But it also includes discussion of research topics, usually extremely specific and complicated (e.g. a recent discussion about the architecture of the language system, which led us to attempt to find a set of BSL signs that move vertically, but for which the vertical movement does or does not refer to actual vertical movement [contrast LIGHTNING {depicting motion of lightning striking downward} with HOUSE {moving downward to outline a typical house}]. And what kind of movement might be implied in those signs' English translations, and how close those translations might be, and the pluses and minuses of different ways we might conduct some experiments, and how the results might be interpreted, and so on).
I've been using BSL quite a lot lately (after a bit of a slump over the Christmas break, where I didn't see any signers for a couple of weeks), and feel like I'm able to get by fairly well on a lot of topics, at least when I'm conversing one-on-one with someone whose signing is familiar (I used to have a lot of trouble understanding left-handed BSL [mirror image of right-handed BSL], but that's not a problem any more as my most frequent conversational partner is left-handed). One-on-one conversations are still far easier as the signals of non-comprehension are easier to spot (and it's less intrusive to sign something like REPEAT/AGAIN [+facial expression something like "sorry, I'm totally lost"]); this is not specific to sign language, though. I'm also getting quite good at comprehending fingerspelling, although I still can't usually manage to work out full-speed native signing (it doesn't take many REPEAT/AGAIN signals before a signer will slow down on his/her own).
Most of my problems with BSL comprehension now seem to be related to individual signs, rather than just totally missing everything. For example, one morning last week a colleague signed something like this: I STAND BUS, DOOR OPEN. I SEE YOU, SAY-HI, YOU TURN-AROUND-GO-AWAY, MANY-PEOPLE BEHIND-YOU CROWD BUS (the gloss roughly indicates what he signed, and is almost certainly not correct. In English he might have said something like "I was standing on the bus, when the doors opened I saw you standing outside. But you stepped aside without noticing, and a bunch of other people got on". [I hate getting onto a crowded bus where I have to stand; I'd rather wait for the next bus where I might get a seat on the upper deck]). But I completely failed to comprehend the sign BUS, so I missed the entire context of the event in which I must have blanked him (to blank: look right at someone you know but not acknowledge their presence. Quite common in Dunce life as I often fail to recognize people I've met before. In contrast to Mrs. Dunce who has a steel-trap mind when it comes to faces). Or sometimes my comprehension errors are based on simple misinterpretation of a sign: like when my colleague signed G-G WORK AT-HOME? (Meaning "Is G. working at home today?" The sign glossed as "G-G" is two instances of the fingerspelled letter "G", a common way to refer to a person who does not have a name-sign. In this case, the first initial of my boss). I misunderstood "G-G" as the sign UMBRELLA (the two signs have quite similar handshapes and locations, and the motion of the hands is fairly similar). After all, it was raining, and I was rather wet. So I thought he was asking whether I came to work but left my umbrella at home. Plus, I usually use a different sign to refer to her ("G-V"), often accompanied by a pointing pronoun (I produce "G-V" then point toward her office). It was especially frustrating because he was also mouthing "umbrella" while producing the sign (English mouth patterns are often produced along with certain signs). But I'm really terrible at speechreading (and the mouth patterns were very similar in any case), so this didn't help me one iota.
In producing signs, I've also made quite a bit of a change over the past few months. Before, if I wasn't sure of a sign, I'd replace it with the fingerspelled English word. Sometimes this would lead a signer to prompt me with the correct BSL sign, but often they'd just let it slide in the interest of communication (they understood me, so why interrupt to correct me). But as my vocabulary has grown, I've become more confident in guessing at the correct sign, even if I'm not sure. And I (mostly) tend to get at least something right (maybe the right handshape, doing the right sort of motion, but in the wrong place). And it seems like these kinds of errors are more often corrected immediately (or else not comprehended, in which case I have to spell an English word, and more often than not a signer will show me the correct sign). I've also started focusing more on trying to produce grammatically correct BSL, and here's where I still have a lot of trouble. Especially because so often an ungrammatical sentence can be understood just fine--especially by signers who are expecting a particular kind of ungrammaticality based on English. We do have a weekly BSL class (for staff and students at the research centre) but only certain aspects of BSL grammar (e.g. pointing pronouns, reference to space and locations, word order for questions, some classifier constructions), have been addressed in detail (for example, it's been drilled into us that questions like "Where do you work?" should be signed with the "question word" last: YOU WORK WHERE [facial expression indicating that this is a question, rather than YOU WORK SOMEWHERE]). I'm quite certain that I make numerous grammatical errors in BSL; I just don't know what most of them are yet. Except for one type, related to the insidious effects of English....
As I mentioned before, many BSL signs are accompanied by mouth-patterns based on the English words. Often this is to disambiguate between homonymous signs (ALLIGATOR and CROCODILE are signed the same, but with different mouth patterns). This is not always the case, though; there are many cases where English mouth-patterns are not correct. For example, there are some signs which have obligatory mouth patterns that are not related to English words. For example, NEAR (index fingers extended, in contact with each other with palms back, located in front of the chest; right index finger makes a very short "hop"-type motion forward [see what I mean about the difficulty of describing a sign using words?!]) is accompanied by pursed lips, while FAR (same starting position; right index finger makes a long forward arc) is accompanied by puffed cheeks and exhaled breath. Mouthing English "near" or "far" in these cases is just plain wrong, but it seems very hard to resist. It's even harder for pointing pronouns ("I", "you", "they") and so on which don't have any associated mouth movements. I just about always find myself mouthing the English pronouns in these cases. And all sorts of other parts of English sentences which are not needed in BSL: I might sign I ASK G-G IF TOMORROW EVENING SHE GO PUB (possibly grammatically incorrect) but simultaneously mouth, in English "I'll ask G if tomorrow evening she's gonna go to the pub." Or even worse, describing objects or actions in detail. Like for example (from our BSL class), describing what an office window looks like. You'd start with a generic sign WINDOW, then sign forms depicting the arrangement and shape of panes, the window frame, etc (the order probably depends on certain things I'm not yet aware of). But while producing these kinds of descriptions, my mouth is running a mile a minute: "Window, it's got 4 panes, top panes round top, flat around. bottom panes square, frame all around. Opens up [as in, lower panes slide up to open it]. Outside little balcony, square, this wide." All of my English mouth patterns are synchronized with a particular sign (e.g. the "4 panes" occurs along with a handshape moving to depict a 2x2 layout of panes). I know this running commentary in English isn't correct, but it's really hard to resist.
Friday, January 12, 2007
It's time once again for one of my regular visits to the differences between UK and US English. For a while I was thinking about being disheartened, after paying a number of visits to the amazing blog separated by a common language ("Observations on British and American English by an American linguist in the UK"). After all, she writes nicely coherent posts, all focused on the topic of interesting UK/US English differences, while I only occasionally visit the topic, and tend to ramble off the topic at the drop of the hat (or at the sight of something shiny). Anyway, today's topic is related to numbers.
I've always been interested in numbers, obsessively so. As an introverted, socially inept youngster I spent quite a lot of time counting (sometimes counting cars, or steps, or names in a telephone book, or sometimes not counting anything but just counting subvocally to see how far I could get [some of these activities continue to the present day]) and organizing things by fours (a special number, you know [please disregard any suggestions to the contrary]). And my memory is still full of numbers I don't need to remember any more (phone numbers all the way back, locker combinations, six-digit product identification codes from a job I left more than 10 years ago, and on and on and on and on). So it's very strange when a simple difference between US and UK English causes me real trouble with numbers. And I'm not talking about the fairly well-known "billion problem". No, this is much simpler: British speakers, when reciting a sequence of digits like telephone numbers, account numbers and so on (I don't know whether it also happens when people are listing post-decimal digits for some reason, but I bet it does), are quite prone to use the word "double" instead of repeating a digit (and less often, to use the word "treble" [triple] when three digits are all the same). As in the examples on this "Telephoning in English" site. At least to me, this seems very uncommon in US English (when reciting a string of digits, anyway). For some reason, I'm thrown for a loop whenever this happens. And not just when I'm trying to hold a number just long enough to write it down, but even when I'm writing digits as I hear them. I have to direct some attention toward converting "double eight" into two eights, which disrupts my attention/memory just enough that I'm sure to miss out on (or just "miss out" in UK English, I think) one of the following digits.
I should note that this doesn't always happen. 999 (UK version of 911) is pronounced "nine nine nine", and telephone numbers beginning with 0800 are "oh-eight-hundred".
Wednesday, January 03, 2007
Q Who had a beard of burnt up black?
A Blackbeard.
I've spent most of the holiday break away from the computer, so it's been a while since I've posted anything. So imagine my surprise when I checked my access logs and found zillions of referrals from internet searches for beards. Not only beards but specifically, those of burnt up black. I immediately discarded the possibility that the bear community had launched some sort of major Christmas publicity effort, and followed the referrals to their target. Actually, the beard in question is mentioned only in this entry, referring to a particular literary work. To which I refer obliquely at the moment for reasons that will become clear in a bit.
So where did all these references to this literary work come from? I googled the phrase myself, and quickly found the answer. It's a question in this year's King William's College Quiz (PDF link from King William's College site; html link from the Guardian). Quizzes like these are quite a British tradition (and Mannish as well, if that's not covered by the term "British"); this time of year it's nearly impossible to get through a newspaper without a year-in-review quiz of some sort, never mind all the pub quizzes out there. But it seems the gentle art of quizzery has suffered a serious blow thanks to the readily available mountain of information out there (here!) these days. I've been quite a fan of trivia in my day, and have a great appreciation for those who are able to retain vast amounts of inconsequential information (myself included to a limited extent, much more limited when it comes to British pop culture predating my arrival here [though I have made up ground when it comes to pop culture of the 21st century]). But now answering quiz-type questions is very different. Answering a question like the one above now requires little more than typing it into your friendly search engine (Google, that is: referrals from Google are occurring more than 30 times as often as all other search engines combined) and seeing what comes up. Unless, of course, this particular entry appears on your search results. For Blackbeard is not the correct answer at all, but Svengali (also mentioned in KWC's 2000 quiz). Even if a question is written in a manner that prevents searching for the exact quotation, clever use of search terms (usually not the norm, if my referral logs are anything to go by) can still often get the answer quite readily. Never mind people who start compiling their own lists of answers. I was tempted to start compiling such a list, all with incorrect but acceptable-sounding answers. But then I figured that having all the wrong answers in one place might be too obvious. So I'll stick with my old friend alone: Blackbeard and his beard of burnt up black.
Thursday, December 21, 2006
Last night the Dunces paid a visit to a new Japanese restaurant in north London, Akari (196 Essex Road). It's located in a former pub (see this amusing comment on Fancyapint), and in its previous incarnation was French restaurant Le Montmartre. Although Akari is quite new, I did find a couple of reviews (Viewlondon, Japanese guide to Essex Road). It still looks very much like a pub, full of wood tables surrounding the bar area which has been converted to an open kitchen. The menu is fairly short (even including a page of specials) but quite varied; on the other hand the drink menu is quite substantial (we stuck to Yebisu beer, a favorite from our trip to Japan which we haven't seen in London before; they also had Orion beer, in addition to more standard Japanese beers). Mrs. Dunce described it as a more accessible version of an izakaya (sort of like Camden's Asakusa in having an interesting range of very Japanese dishes, but differing by aiming to also accommodate people who are not so familiar with Japanese food); a gastro-izakaya if you like. Definitely izakaya-ish, though; other customers were working their way around the shochu/sake menu, also ordering small dishes one or two at a time.
We ordered a few dishes (all to share) which was just the right amount of food: a nice hot miso soup to start with (temperatures dropped to near freezing this week. As individuals of midwestern heritage it's rather embarrassing to admit that we were both uncomfortably cold. When it wasn't even below freezing!). Shrimp & vegetable tempura, then an excellent dish of mussels in a sake-based soup. An order of hand-rolled sushi with salmon, avocado & tempura shrimp. And the highlight of the evening: kaki fry. Fried oysters, one of Mrs. Dunce's favorite dishes. With a splash of sauce (quite reminiscent of okonomiyaki sauce) and a home-made tartar sauce on the side. These were fantastic. And we finished up with hot tea before venturing back out into the cold. The bill came to (exactly) £40 including two beers each.
We'll definitely be heading back there in the new year.
A recent post on the Language Log discussing the relationship between grammar and ethics/morality included a digression on the etymology of the term "dunce". As I was unfamiliar with this story, and because I've adopted the name myself, but especially because "dunce" has such an interested trajectory, I thought it was definitely worth covering here (quotes shamelessly c&p'd from the Oxford English Dictionary).
The term "dunce" (n.) is broadly described like this: "[a]n application of the name of John Duns Scotus, the celebrated scholastic eologian, called ‘Doctor Subtilis’ the Subtle Doctor, who died in 1308. His works on theology, philosophy, and logic, were textbooks in the Universities, in which (as at Oxford) his followers, called Scotists, were a predominating Scholastic sect, until the 16th c., when the system was attacked with ridicule, first by the humanists, and then by the reformers, as a farrago of needless entities, and useless distinctions. The Dunsmen or Dunses, on their side, railed against the 'new learning', and the name Duns or Dunce, already synonymous with 'cavilling sophist' or 'hair-splitter', soon passed into the sense of 'dull obstinate person impervious to the new learning', and of 'blockhead incapable of learning or scholarship'."
1. The first sense of "dunce" (listed as Obsolete and appearing in examples between 1527 and 1641) is strictly linked to the individual: "The personal name Duns used attrib. 'Duns man', a disciple or follower of Duns Scotus, a Scotist, a schoolman; hence, a subtle, sophistical reasoner."
2. The second sense (also Obsolete) was used during the same period, and reference moved beyond the man himself to encompass his writings: "A copy of the works of Duns Scotus; a textbook of scholastic theology or logic embodying his teaching; a comment or gloss by or after the manner of Scotus.".
3. Next the term extended another step further to the third sense (also Obsolete, examples from 1577 and 1611), referring to followers of Duns (and also carrying the connotation of overly petty quibbling): "A disciple or adherent of Duns Scotus, a Duns man, a Scotist; a hair-splitting reasoner; a cavilling sophist."
4. And then it turns even uglier, the fourth sense listed (also Obsolete, appearing in examples from 1579-1742) has lost any positive connotations previous uses might have had: "One whose study of books has left him dull and stupid, or imparted no liberal education; a dull pedant." Such as the quote from Devil's Banquet (T.Adams, 1614), "When a man courts to be a Doctor in all Arts, hee lightly proues a dunce in many".
5. Which brings us to the modern usage which has been stripped of its bookishness (from the late 1500s onward": "One who shows no capacity for learning; a dull-witted, stupid person; a dullard, blockhead.".
This etymological trajectory is a fantastic example of a word's meaning going from one extreme to another. It also matches well with my own nature, although in my case perhaps it's more related to Thomas Dun than to John Duns Scotus (and that ain't no wikipedia link neither; a [sense #4] Dunce like me has to find a more complete and detailed entry). I have buried my nose so deeply in books, and become so consumed by ever-shrinking minutiae that it was inevitable that every last bit of intellect has been drained from me. Now I can barely follow the plot twists and turns of your average episode of America's Next Top Model (cycle 7) as I sit drooling on the couch.
Tuesday, December 19, 2006
Over the past few months I've been obsessively collecting and categorizing every piece of advertising that finds its way through our letterbox (ie, not addressed to us or delivered by the postal service). One surprisingly common category is the dodgy clothing collection company. I've mentioned a couple of these in previous posts (Silverwall; Island of Hope) but now have a whole slew of them. A baker's dozen, as it happens, and oddly they are all exactly the same format, though purportedly coming from a number of different companies. They're all printed on a slightly glossy, lightweight stock (size A3), and they all feature the words CLOTHING COLLECTION in large, prominent type. They all mention that donated clothing will go to poor people (about half of them refer vaguely to third world countries, and half to Eastern European countries). And they all have small print which explains that they are not in fact charitable organizations. Since they have so much in common, I wouldn't be at all surprised if they are actually coming from exactly the same people. The company details listed on the advertising sheets appear below; if you find this post searching for more info on one of these companies I'd be quite interested in your comments.
Silverwall Ltd. (2 ads) I've mentioned this company before. Their advert includes an odd picture of two small shirtless boys (presumably in the throes of poverty, but who in fact look like they're playing on the beach). They're providing people in third world countries with clothes for their families they can afford [sic]. Information on the ad includes gives a company registration number (5433460) and a mobile telephone number 07769 811992. Looking up this number on the Webcheck service at Companies House (official register of UK businesses) show that this company was incorporated in April 2005 and has current status of "Active - Proposal to Strike off".
Orellana Ltd. (2 ads). No picture, just a stylized image of clothing as a background. They too are providing people in third world countries with clothes for their families they can afford [sic]. They list registration number 5496347 and a hotmail address (orellana_support@hotmail.com). This company actually appears as "dissolved" on the Companies House website (incorporated 1 July 2005, dissolved 27 June 2006). It's somewhat strange that a dissolved company would continue to solicit products.
Europe Suppliers Ltd. (2 ads). This one has a blurry picture of a dove as the background. Unlike the previous two, they provide people in need Eastern Europe countries with affordable clothes for them and their families it provides jobs in Eastern European countries for those sorting the clothes for distribution [sic]. Another company registration number (5401427) and another hotmail address (europesupplier@hotmail.co.uk). And hey, it's another company with a status of "Active - Proposal to Strike off" (incorporated April 2003).
Ambertop Ltd. (3 ads). Two of these have background images of small children; the third has a truly bizarre image of cats, possibly photoshopped to make it look like one has an arm around the other (I'll have to scan it in when I have a moment). They provide people in need in Eastern European companies with affordable clothes for them and their families [sic]. And yet another registration number (5333502) and hotmail address (ambertop_support@hotmail.com). Hey, wait a minute, Ambertop was dissolved on 11 April 2006 (incorporated 17 January 2005). See any patterns here yet?
But what about Cotrado Ltd.? (2 ads). An image of three miserable children (perhaps taken from Depression-era stock images). This company provide people in third world countries with clothes for their families they can afford [sic]. Registration number? Check (5545502). Anonymous contact info? Check (mobile number 07792 270755). This company is just barely cold, having only been dissolved a few weeks back (incorporated 24 August 2005, dissolved 28 November 2006).
But wait, there's more! General L&A Wardship Ltd.. Decorated with clip art reminiscent of Hands Across America, this one doesn't even bother with contact information, providing only a company registration number (5477636). This one also uses a slightly different spiel: Can you spare any of your old unwanted clothes whitch will send to the third world where the garments will be carefully sorted and worn again [sic]. And hey, for once this is an active company (incorporated 10 June 2005), with a relevant business type actually listed with Companies House (Nature of Business (SIC(03)):
5116 - Agents in textiles, footwear etc.; registered at 71 EMMOTT AVENUE, ILFORD). But it still looks very questionable to me.
And finally, one that doesn't even include a company name (background image, three nerdy children sitting in someone's back garden). They provide people in third world countries with clothes for their families they can afford [sic]. And provide a company number (5482825) and anonymous email address (pajuryss@yohoo.co.uk [sic]). This company (PAJURYS LTD of Leyton) is active, but proposed to be struck off (incorporated 16 June 2005).
All in all, a healthy stack of unwanted clothing collection scam advertisements. How much unwanted clothing do they think we have?
Thursday, December 14, 2006
This blog has just been upgraded to a new version of dasBlog, which apparently provides some new ways to protect bloggists against spam (or "smap" if you prefer). I don't get a lot of visible spam here (comments are fairly well protected by CAPTCHA [except for one or two that seemed to have been added by hand, and were just as easily deleted by hand], trackbacks are disabled, and referrals are not made visible anywhere). But back behind the scenes, there are any number of referral spamming techniques cluttering my logs (spam blogs, dodgy links of various styles, spammy linky postings from open message boards, and so on and so on). But strangely enough, they've almost all been attracted to one particularly exciting post I made last September with the title Spammy, spammy, spammy (which just so happened to mention a few terms that often occur in spammy spams, like poker, diet pills, phentermine, cialis, jackpots, and virtual slots [uh oh, there are those terms again!]). The upgrade log revealed that this entry had received 7683 referrals (where most of my posts are in the low hundreds). So I wonder if a new entry of a similar nature might do the same, as a sort of honeypot attracting smappy interest away from the rest of my posts. If I wrote such an entry, my logs suggest that it probably shouldn't contain terms related to pharmaceuticals like viagra, prozac, zoloft, wellbutrin, thorazine if I want to keep the spam away. I sure wouldn't want spam related to insurance or banking, either, so I'd better avoid using terms like geico, aetna, insure, annuity, account. And when it comes to gambling, I really want to steer clear of slots, roulette, blackjack, poker (although I think I'm safe with three-card monte or baccarat). And I'm terribly afraid what would happen if I mentioned porn. Anyway most of those terms appear in my blacklist, so I'm sure this particular entry will remain pristine, untouched by spammy referrals, comments and so on.
Tuesday, December 12, 2006
It's time for another excellent time-wasting website, brought to my attention by a recent post on the Language Log (title: "If you loved The Chomsky Reader, you'll hate The Devil Wears Prada"). This one is the Library Thing, an online book cataloguing system that allows you to see your own collection in the context of other people's collections (N.B. you can only enter 200 books into your "collection" for free [no limit: $10/year or $25/life], but 200 is probably a pretty good start if you have time for it). To me the most interesting aspects of this site are the suggestion/anti-suggestion options. The suggestion option is similar to Amazon's recommendation system (Amazon recommendations are also presented in the Library Thing's suggestion page), "People with this book also have...", based on deviation of actual ownership of a title from the expected ownership based on popularity.
The suggestion system gives results that look like this for a few of my favorite books (I've only looked at the level of individual works; I'm a bit too busy to enter in my own library [or subset thereof]): people who own Neal Stephenson's Snow Crash tend to own other works by Stephenson, also William Gibson, Bruce Sterling and so on. Just like me. Owners of Pynchon's Gravity's Rainbow seem to have plenty of other Pynchon, plus William Gaddis, David Foster Wallace, John Barth, and Richard Powers. Just like me. Infinite Jest by David Foster Wallace gives more Wallace (not of IJ quality, I should note), plenty of Pynchon, also Gaddis, Dom DeLillo, Dave Eggers, Jonathan Franzen (plus Michael Chabon who keeps coming up, I'll have to check him out). A Confederacy of Dunces, however, brings up some odd results (differing depending on "v1" vs "v2", a distinction I haven't quite figured out yet*). Top of the table is Truman Capote's In Cold Blood, followed closely by Gravity's Rainbow and a slew of Vonnegut titles, but also Faulkner, Joyce, Nabokov, Irving and Kerouac.
But there's also an anti-suggestion system the unsuggester (people who own X tend not to own Y): People who ownSnow Crash tend not to own Rick Warren's The Purpose Driven Church, Henri Nouwen's The Wounded Healer: Ministry in Contemporary Society and Jan Karon's In This Mountain. Owners of Gravity's Rainbow are very short on Tim LaHaye (7 titles in the top 30 "unrecommended"), John Piper (4 titles), also missing out on The Other Side of the Story by Marian Keyes and Petals on the Wind by V.C. Andrews. Infinite Jest readers do not tend to own novels by James Patterson, Nora Roberts, Tamora Pierce and Dean Koontz (this is the only exception I've found: I must admit I do have something by Koontz hanging around the house that has not yet found a suitable home). Finally, A Confederacy of Dunces owners tend not to have Boy Meets Girl: Say Hello to Courtship by Joshua Harris, and a mass of books by Sherrilyn Kenyon (seven of the ten unsuggested books).
*The distinction between v1 and v2 is explained in a comment on the LibraryThing blog: "Basically v2 has the "obscurity knob" turned up. It care more about the
ratio of have/expected than the absolute number of have/expected. v1 is
also massaged a bit to dampen high-popularity low-specificity books
(eg., things you read in High School, like the Crucible)."
Monday, December 11, 2006
During our recent trip to the USA, we spent a bit of time visiting bicycle shops in the Pensacola metro area, in search of a new helmet to replace my current one (extra large Giro Laguna) which is starting to show signs of age. Now it's been some time since I've shopped for a helmet (the current one came from my father, who no doubt found it at a super-low price in a clearance sale somewhere), and I've discovered a worrying new trend in cycle helmet fashion.
My previous helmets have all been variations of a general theme: the helmet is secured by a chin-strap which divides just under the ears, plus (lately) a sort of plastic cradle at the back of the head, held in place by the straps. Fine fitting adjustments can be made by shortening or lengthening various parts of the straps, and foam pads of variable thickness (in my case, the thinnest ones available) are placed to ensure that the helmet fits securely against the head. Most new helmets I saw in cycle shops still have the chin straps, but these are used only to ensure that the helmet stays on in a crash. Instead, these helmets are secured by an adjustment system somewhat similar to an adjustable baseball cap. Various companies have their own terms for this sort of system ("ring fit systems", such as Bell's ErgoDial, Giro's Acu-Dial and so on), based on a sound idea: ensuring that helmets are properly fitted so that they will actually protect the head as much as possible in an impact (most helmets are not worn correctly, most commonly leaving the forehead unprotected; see this site for info on "How to fit a bicycle helmet"). Unfortunately, none of these systems seem to accommodate a head that is significantly larger than average (much less a large head wearing a hat for winter warmth). My own head happens to be at least an American size 8, a circumference that goes beyond the range of your readily available ErgoDial etc. products. So I returned to London without a new helmet after all.
Since then I've looked around a bit more. There's a nice page on helmets.org specifically listing the helmets that are available for large-sized heads. At the top of the list are the Bell Kinghead and the Vigor Duo, both of which are advertised as fitting 26-inch heads. So now it's just (I hope "just") a matter of finding someone who carries one of them; my initial google searches show nothing (0 hits for "vigor duo" site:uk; only two for "bell kinghead" site:uk, and both of those are junk/link farm sites). At least there's hope I'll be able to get a helmet that does not require someone making a custom mold of my head.
Tuesday, December 05, 2006
Below is the text of a letter recently received at the Dunce home. It may explain why we don't seem ourselves lately; it's terribly hard to get through the day after receiving this kind of bad news.
---------------------------------------------------
Dear Darts Fan,
THE LAKESIDE WORLD PROFESSIONAL DARTS CHAMPIONSHIPS 6th-14th JANUARY 2007
We thank you for applying for tickets for the above event.
However due to another record breaking influx of ticket applications it has not been possible to allocate you tickets.
If your application was accompanied by a cheque, it is returned herewith.
If you applied by credit/debit card then all your details have been destroyed in accordance with the data protection act.
We are sorry for any disappointment caused and hope that you will enjoy the BBC TV coverage of this event.
Once again, our thanks,
Sincerely
[signed: digitized scrawl]
The Box Office
Lakeside Country Club.
Monday, December 04, 2006
I've spent the past couple of weeks with Mrs. Dunce on our annual holiday to the U!!S!!A!!, following our new tradition of Thanksgiving with family and then a quiet Christmas at home. I figured I'd be writing about our annoyance at having a flight cancelled and baggage delayed. Or maybe the joys of shopping in the US with a very favorable exchange rate. Or perhaps going on and on about the great restaurants in the Pensacola area and that it's very good for my waistline that I live so far away from them. But no... instead I'll be talking about our triumphant return to London.
It seems that while we were away, someone apparently tried to break into the house next door. I'm not sure when it happened; at some point this weekend we noticed a pane of glass which was suspiciously broken around the window latch. We're especially sensitive to this sort of thing as our own place was burgled on a previous trip out of the country. So we called the police to report the possible break-in (after knocking on the door to make sure no one was home). After a couple of hours a couple of officers arrived (I'm not criticizing their response time, after all this was only a possible break-in which had occurred at an unknown time). They thought there wasn't much that could be done, perhaps slipping a note through the door in case the resident was out of town or something. But the answers we provided to their questions about our neighbor (an older man, not known to us and quite unsociable in general [a couple of early "hello" + waves from me were answered only with a scowl]), plus a few observations by Mrs. Dunce about the lack of noticeable activity for some time before our holiday, led them to break down the door instead (at which time we quickly closed the cat flap, not wanting our inquisitive cat to assist in the investigation). Not long after that, the officers returned to our door with the news that our neighbor was dead, and had been possibly for quite some time. That was all they told us, so we spent much of the rest of the evening twitching our curtains to see what else was going on. Not much, as it turned out: whatever sort of investigation is done on the scene, then lots of police-waiting until a private ambulance arrived. Now the door and window are boarded up, and we'll just have to wait and see what comes of it. There will probably be a small story in the local paper, we may be asked a few questions at some point.
But it's really quite a disturbing turn of events, especially considering that we were the first ones to notice that anything might be amiss. It seems like he must have had no friends, family members, social workers who might have gotten worried and checked in -- the police obviously hadn't been there before. And the only way we noticed anything was because of the apparent burglary (although I hate to imagine how we might have found out otherwise). Very sad to think about.
Friday, November 17, 2006
This week was time for another beer festival, this time at the Pembury, sister pub to our local and quickly rising into the top tier of London real ale pubs since the very early, very quiet days (e.g. my post from January). We've been there on a few occasions since our first visit, and every time it seems to have improved: more customers, something on the walls to improve the ambience, pub games, even a fantastic kitchen. And its rating on Beerintheevening.com has skyrocketed (up to the point at which pubs enter the "top 10" list, where tactical So how could we miss the beer festival?
As soon as we finished work, we jumped on a bus and made our way there. Just in time too, every table but one was occupied (although... the tables are quite large and fairly well suited for sharing). There were 20+ beers available (plus a few in the cellar not quite ready to be served). Ten or so from the Milton brewery, but a good assortment from elsewhere. I have to say the landlord made some excellent choices; it was very hard for us to find anything worse than a "half smile" on our simple beer rating scale (explained at the bottom of this post). And not because of drinking to excess; we chose to drink half-pints in order to taste more of them. Along the way we had a very nice dinner (the special Ploughman's sandwich featuring four different Neal's Yard cheeses for me [I've already reached the point where I find it difficult to even consider anything else], a vegetable cheese bake for Mrs. Dunce, and an order of root vegetable chips [fries] for both of us), and we finally took a chance at playing bar billiards (thanks to a local friend of ours who taught us how to play, thrashing us in the process). The pub seemed quite busy all night which is very encouraging. Without further ado, here are the beers and our ratings (note that only the "owner" of a beer was permitted to give it a rating. Where there were two ratings, we each had one.):
Dark Star: Old Ale (4.0%). Full smile rating from me, half smile from Mrs. Dunce. This was a dark beer with quite a smoky taste. Not quite as strong as the German Rauchbiers but sometimes the latter are somewhat like drinking a big glass of bacon. Mrs. Dunce thought it was a little too much smoke for the time of day (although thanks to the Pembury's no-smoking policy this was the only smoke we experienced).
Dark Star: Winter Meltdown (5.0%). Mrs. Dunce's beer of the night (full smile rating). Not as flavorful as you would expect from the beer tasting notes which ran to four lines. But very drinkable, and a good hit of ginger as an interesting touch.
Milestone: Crusader (4.4%). Full smile, A blonde Belgian-style ale, very smooth and tasty but perhaps slightly too balanced for me. I did still like it quite a bit.
Milestone: Rich Ruby (4.5%). Mrs. Dunce gave it a half-smile. Initially it was horrible: the aroma was vaguely reminiscent of urine (verified by me [not that I went and smelled some urine, but that I sniffed the beer too and agreed]) and this carried over into the first sip or two. After that it was fairly nice, but hard to get that initial impression out of your mind.
Milton: Gargantua (5.6%). I was going to avoid the Milton beers which are usually readily available at the Pembury and the Oakdale. But I'd never tasted this one before, and the description "extremely hoppy" suggested it was my kind of tipple. Yes indeed, a full smile it is, and my choice for beer of the night. Maybe a little less than subtle, but I'm a sucker for the hops.
Milton: Mammon (7.0%). I had one of these late in the evening: it's just too strong, and rich, and sweet, and everything else. The notes indicate that it was brewed in September 2005 and had over a year to mature. It was just too much and I had to give it a flat-mouth rating. A special offer was noted, a pint of Mammon and a plate of Stilton for £4. Stilton is perhaps the only food that could stand up to the aged Mammon. Just not my thing on this occasion.
Nottingham: Bullion (4.7%). I rated this one only a half-smile, rather bland and light in flavor. Lacking any sort of distinct finish, but still nice enough.
Nottingham: Dreadnought (4.5%). Mrs. Dunce was blown away by the flavor, describing it as quite biscuity, and almost too complex for its own good. Still deserving of a full smile rating.
Saffron: EPA (3.9%). Mrs. Dunce gave this one a half smile. It's a bit hoppy but all right. She prefers the malty beers; I've had this one before and thought it quite nice, although light and perhaps better suited for summer.
Saffron: Silent Night (5.2%). Described as a dark and hoppy bitter, so I jumped at the chance to try it. It didn't seem so hoppy to me, but more chocolatey and stoutish. I still found it quite lovely, giving it a full smile rating.
Springhead: Cromwell's Hat (6.0%). Mrs. Dunce gave this one another full smile: malty with a cinnamon hit (although she didn't notice the juniper mentioned in the tasting notes).
Finally we had two beers as a sort of quiz challenge: Tring: Buzby (4.0%) and Tring: "It's for you!" (4.0%). The quiz came from the tasting notes ("Amber coloured and spicy. Suggestions gratefully received as to what the spice actually is"). Sadly, we had no idea what the spice might be (and didn't even notice the spice in the "It's for you!"). I took the Buzby, giving it a half smile as "decent but not special"; Mrs. Dunce appreciated the maltier character of the "It's for you!" (I'm not sure I approve of drinking beer whose name contains multiple punctuation marks) but didn't rate it higher than a half smile.
And that's about it. We were a little disappointed that a couple of the listed beers were not being served yet (Nottingham's Rock Mild, and Milton's Marcus Aurelius in particular), but the selection was already plenty good.
Monday, November 13, 2006
Lest you think my sneering at the quality of local news is limited to my old hometown newspaper, let me share with you a story from my current local weekly.
Sex shop hoax by builders
CROUCH End was bracing itself for its first sex shop shop - but it all turned out to be a hoax.
A shopfitter working on the conversion of a shop in Topsfield Parade scrawled an announcement that a sex shop was opening there as a joke.
Eyebrows were raised by shoppers and local business owners when the note appeared last Monday morning in the window of the former HAM Estates office on Topsfield Parade, Crouch End, brazenly declaring: "This is new Crouch Hill sex shop".
It wasn't long before nearby workers and passers-by started asking questions, but things started sounding fishy when a Journal reporter made some inquiries.
Sniggering builders admitted that the sex shop sign had been a joke.
The note was removed by Wednesday lunchtime. When the truth - that the shop was going to be a rather less racy estate agents - was revealed, some local shopkeepers seemed a little disappointed.
One said: "It would have been more exciting than another estate agents." Another said: "My reaction was 'brilliant!' and At least it's not another clothes shop."
But not everyone was fooled. "I knew it was a fake," said Pizza Hut manager Jason Ireton. "The note was on the outside. Obviously you are not going to get a sex shop in this area.
This story has it all: sex, comedy, quotes from local notables, even a very-badly written sentence that jumps out and smacks you in the face with its badness (I refer of course to the phrase "as a joke" which really wants to modify the nearby verb phrase "was opening" rather than the intended verb "scrawled").
(link to story, but who knows how long the link will remain active).
Friday, November 10, 2006
I just went to the webpage of my old hometown newspaper. At the top of the page:
Breaking News: Which Sunday Comics are your favorite?
It's good to see things haven't changed much around there.
Over the past couple of months Mrs. Dunce
and I have been on a house-hunting mission. London property is
massively overpriced, yet incredibly fast-moving, so it's been quite a
frustrating enterprise. We divided up the responsibilities in a very
unfair and uneven manner (partly because of differing workloads at the
moment, but mainly because of Mrs. Dunce's greater dedication and my
own laziness): she was the primary "property finder", regularly
searching various online sources, contacting estate agents and setting
up viewings; my main job (aside from the occasional secondary property
search, providing a second opinion on the "possible" properties, and of
course viewings) was that of Primary Negotiator in the event we
actually found a place.
Early days were really rough: from the very start we spotted any number
of flats and small houses within our budget, and potentially of
interest, but every time we rang an estate agent to see about looking
at one of them, we heard the same old news: "sorry, it's already under
offer". We later learned that properties are selling so quickly that
estate agents are hesitant to mail out property information sheets; by
the time a sheet arrives in the post, the property will very likely
have sold. It was also quite hard for us to arrange viewings: not very
many agents were willing to show a property after work, and Saturday
appointments were quite hard to come by. But we eventually started to
fit a few of them in. Here are some descriptions of the places we got
to see (I may be missing a few due to repressed memory of traumatic
events)
A ground floor flat in a Victorian (or maybe a little post-Vic)
conversion, with the tiniest kitchen I've ever seen. Big enough for one
person to stand in, but not enough space to do any sort of actual
cooking.
A decent, more recently built (post WW2) ground floor flat, tucked back
into the corner of a sort-of-busy street. Nothing was really wrong with
this one (Mrs. Dunce sort of liked it), but the front of the building
and its street had quite a shabby feel. This one did remain a "maybe we
should have" property for quite some time after we decided "no".
Another ground-floor flat in a Victorian conversion. This one had
decent bedrooms, kitchen, living room, but the bathroom was a real
problem. It was built in a tiny extension, and the ceiling was low
enough that I could not stand upright in the shower.
Next, we went to Mrs. Dunce's old student neighborhood (our ideal
location, we had sort of decided) to look at a 3-bedroom place. The
living area was giant (maybe even too big) and the bedrooms were
upstairs (always good--it means less noise from neighbors). But oddly
laid out: you had to go through one of the bedrooms to get to another
one, the (separate) toilet and bathroom were jammed into a corner next
to the kitchen, and the kitchen itself was built in a flat-roofed
extension that may have had some dampness issues. We liked it well
enough to make an offer, though. And finally it was time for my
negotiating skills to shine. We made our offer by phone, and had it
rejected on the spot. Mulled it over, called back with another offer,
and waited for several days. Turns out someone else bought it for the
asking price, which would have been quite a stretch for us given the
likely need to do additional work.
A bit more time passed, and we decided to have a look at something very
different: a "modern" ex-local authority flat, built in perhaps the
early 1960s. It's also sitting right at the edge of a very large, very
notorious council estate (but which is in the early stages of a very
substantial makeover). We walked inside and loved it. An older lady had
been living there for ages, the rooms were all very well proportioned,
upstairs bedrooms, etc. The area definitely falls into "not-so-great",
in fact, it is listed as "ACORN type 56", the lowest possible ranking
on the ACORN scale
("the leading geodemographic tool used to identify and understand the
UK population and the demand for products and services". The ACORN
scale deserves an entry all its own): As described by upmystreet.com "Many
of the people who live in this sort of postcode will live in crowded
flats in multi-ethnic areas... 70% of the housing is purpose built
blocks of flats. The flats tend to have one or two bedrooms and are
rented from the council or housing associations. The large numbers of
children living in these small flats make these homes the most
overcrowded in the UK.". Or as the ACORN site puts it, "Hard
Pressed: Inner City Adversity". But even more concerning than possible
poverty and adversity were the signs in the neighbors' windows, giving
a comforting message something like "Please don't tear down our homes."
We asked the estate agent about this, and he reassured us, telling us
that he had spoken to someone from the council, and they were not going
to be demolished after all. We weren't convinced and did a little
research (we were still interested in possibly making an offer if this
statement was true). Mrs. Dunce rang the council and, surprise,
surprise, demolition is still on track, planned within the next couple
of years. I see that at this very moment the property is still being
listed HERE,
by Courtneys Estate Agents. Needless to say we did not bother putting
in an offer on it. Maybe you would like to. I hear from the agent that
demolition has been cancelled.
This last property gave us a different sort of idea: maybe we like the
idea of living in an ex-local authority property, where the rooms tend
to be of sizes a little more suitable for modern living of the type we
prefer to do. So we checked out a couple more of them (in different
areas, and definitely offered by different estate agents than the last
one). Both had decent-sized rooms, and private gardens, but both of
them were set in fairly depressing-looking areas of a vaguely run-down
nature. And both were rather shabby, sort of halfway through
renovation; I think the owners had started, then run out of
time/energy/money.
We were really starting to get depressed, but then it got even worse.
First, we saw a recently-developed Victorian conversion, which had been
done up to a very nice standard, but which also had very limited space
(a second bedroom that would maybe fit a futon, and a nice but very
small kitchen, the whole place was small enough that it would take some
clever doing to fit a table anywhere but outside). But little did we
know that the worst of the lot was yet to come. This was a
three-bedroom flat, again of an ex-local authority nature. Mrs. Dunce's
extensive research had revealed that this very flat had sold earlier in
the year, at a price £30,000 less than the current asking price. We
figured someone had bought it, put a little money into it, and was
hoping to get a quick profit out of it. Boy, were we wrong. Now, it's
somewhat hard to get a sense of space when a place is being occupied by
a family of nine (who were present while we were looking at it). And
it's somewhat hard to see past crayon-scribbled walls and various bits
of who-knows-what flung around the place. But it's definitely easy to
see a completely collapsed ceiling in one of the bedrooms, drooping
window frames and obvious structural problems, and an ancient, decrepit
hot-water boiler that looked like it was ready to blow at any moment
(we peeked at the boiler, then gingerly crept backwards as slowly and
carefully as we could). When we left we were completely shell-shocked
(perhaps latent effects of the first WW2 bomb to land in Tottenham,
which destroyed this immediate area). The following days were not happy
ones (after all, the asking price was right in the neighborhood of what
we thought we could manage).
But the next week, things changed completely. On the Friday just after
work we saw an excellent place, on a very nice street (turns out to be
ACORN type 15: [not 13 as I originally wrote, but still...]). It has
its flaws (chiefly: very narrow bedrooms), but we really liked it (we
were also lucky in that we saw it on the very first day it was on the
market). We went back the next day, tape measure in hand, to see
whether it could work. And it could! We were pretty certain we would
make an offer, but we did have another place to see.
And it was back to the very first area we had noticed (and from which
all the available properties had sold just the moment we started
looking seriously). Definitely a less affluent area, but full of small
two-bedroomed houses (originally built as workers' cottages). It was
quite nice (though cozy), but we were so dazzled by the
previously-mentioned place it stood no chance.
We've now made an offer on the aforementioned place, and it's been
accepted, so now we're going through the various painful steps toward
finalizing the deal (the less said about any of that, the better. And
I've intentionally left out a bunch of details because I don't want to
jinx anything). The current owner is hoping to finalize her own new
place by the end of January, so we're hoping everything goes smoothly
from here on out. I have carefully avoided mentioning specific prices;
I'll just say **GULP**.
Oh yeah, during the final decision stage, I did sneak away from work
one afternoon to look at one other place that had just come onto the
market: a small semi-detached house backing onto a cemetery (Mrs.
Dunce's dream, believe it or not). It was in a really village-like
cul-de-sac, with loads of mature trees around, and plenty of outdoor
space (not even counting the cemetery which I am sure would have been a
real treat for the cat). Unfortunately it required a lot of work (holes
in the floor, possible structural problems, just about everything
inside would need replacing), and since my DIY skills are limited to
changing light bulbs and vacuuming, I thought it was definitely not for
us.