So, seriously, how was Trieste?
And I am crestfallen at the thought that I might not get a copy of that poetry 'zine. That I was promised. I'm only claiming what is rightfully mine. I suspect you are just holding out for some kind of quid pro quo. Which, fair enough, just say the word and I will be happy to send some kind of Parisian bauble or trinket winging your way.
But I'm damned if I'm gonna post my street address here on Wordnik, and you have the vice of being nowhere else contactable, to my knowledge.
It's an impasse.
I never did get my copy of that poetry rag where my delightful opus "Marmalade Cat Humiliation" is alleged to have appeared.
What do you have to say about that, leather-ears? Did even a pang of regret enter your wizened marsupial soul as you jetted past Paris, on the way to a more cachet-laden dinner engagement with rolig, huh?
Not that I am bitter. No, not me.
And if you ask me anyone who tweets (God, how I hate being forced to use vile word) "Lured to lurid hues, lucid discontinuities churn out strips of woody putty coalesced to upheavals of eggnog organza: lime-twigged snowclones" is either trying too hard, or a reasonably clever machine.
An idiotic little hammer knocks drily: one, two, three, ten, twenty knocks. Then, like a clod of mud thrown into crystal-clear water, there is wild screaming, hissing, rattling, wailing, moaning, cackling. Bestial cries are heard: neighing horses, the squeal of a brass pig, crying jackasses, amorous quacks of a monstrous toad…this excruciating medley of brutal sounds is subordinated to a barely perceptible rhythm. Listening to this screaming music for a minute or two, one conjures up an orchestra of madmen, sexual maniacs, led by a man-stallion beating time with an enormous phallus.
This is indeed an awesome list. I feel a host of regrettable jokes bubbling up, like "Don't bring a jack-knife fish to a pistol shrimp fight".
But I wonder if maybe the club-foot whiting might not feel out of place on this list?
These are not quite the same as what the French call « guillemets », are they?
But they might be the same as what the Germans call Gänsefüßchen, (little goosefeet, that is the little feet of geese, not the feet of little geese).
I just found out from Wikipedia (regarding guillemet) that
The word is a diminutive of the French name Guillaume (the equivalent of which in English is William), after the French printer and punchcutter Guillaume Le Bé (1525–98). Some languages derive their word for guillemets analogously; for example, the Irish term is Liamóg, from Liam 'William' and a diminutive suffix.
Liamóg is better translated as "young William" but is in any case adorable.
What about "pinfluence", the act of using hypnosis to get someone to divulge their ATM code; "dinfluence", the act of persuasion though the use of very loud noises; "zinfluence", the act of steering someone towards choosing the Zinfandel from the wine list, "thinfluence", the act of persuading someone to lose a few pounds before summer rolls around, perhaps I'd better stop now ...
"ginfluence", the act of bending someone to one's well by plying them with juniper juice
Sadly, this year SantaFox is working under a major constraint; because of the Scheveningen agreement, he is being forced to work with French elves, who refuse to work more than 35 hours a week, and who strike* at the slightest provocation (e.g. the recent, perfectly innocuous change in the hot cocoa and marshmallow supplier). Given these limitations, December 2013 seems like a more realistic goal.
*: SantaFox also hears dark rumors of a planned work stoppage to coincide with the end of the Mayan calendar.
Nobody is tweeting about Gunter's chain -- how can this be?
Here's a fun craft project for the children, if they start now, they should be able to complete that chain in time for father's day. Just remember, when it gets to the muriatic acid part, some adult supervision might be advisable:
I am surprised, nay shocked, that the immortal phrase of excoriation "nook-shotten Norwegians" has not yet made it onto this page. Better late than never.
Here is the link: maunderings of nook-shotten Norwegians The phrase is taken from the shriek of execration that constituted the press reaction to the premiere of Ibsen's "Ghosts" in London.
I'm sure Dominique Strauss-Kahn (DSK) would be open to considering fresh branding opportunities, what with him no longer being president of the IMF and not having managed to be elected president of France. And with today's news that the gang rape charges against him have been dropped, so that only the pimping charges remain, the potential for a brand values disconnect is consequently greatly reduced.
I am, as they say around these here parts, *desolated*. But I understand that rolig is undoubtedly an infinitely more charming dinner companion than my miserable self. Given my druthers, I'd be dining nightly in Ljubljana and Trieste myself, instead of ...
Well, no, actually. No, I wouldn't....
But, de toute façon, safe travels, o leather-eared one. You do know that the big Swiss chocolate cartels have outlawed chocolate bilbies within Swiss borders, right?
I don't just lie to children about dinosaurs. I'm an equal-opportunity fabulist. I lie to everyone about everything. Or do I ? Mwahahahahaha!!!!
But why does this page have no mention of Biddy Early , the wise woman of County Clare.
When will you be coming to Europe? You could have dinner with sionnach in Parigi. I will be having dinner with Son of Groucho week after next -- why not you? I am also trying to convince Prolagus to make the trip north from his Sardine fortress.
Fecal vomiting or antiperistalsis is a kind of emesis in which fecal matter is expelled from the intestines into the stomach, by spasmodic contractions of the gastric muscles, and then subsequently forcefully expelled from the stomach up into the esophagus and out through the mouth and sometimes nasal passages. Alternative medical terms for fecal vomiting are copremesis and stercoraceous vomiting. It was also referred to as miserere in medieval times.
"During this battue they killed certain animals peculiar to the country, the very names of which were unknown to Paganel; among others the wombat and the bandicoot. The wombat is an herbivorous animal, which burrows in the ground like a badger. It is as large as a sheep, and the flesh is excellent.
The bandicoot is a species of marsupial animal which could outwit the European fox, and give him lessons in pillaging poultry yards. It was a repulsive-looking animal, a foot and a half long, but, as Paganel chanced to kill it, of course he thought it charming.
'An adorable creature,' he called it."
- Jules Verne, In Search of the Castaways, 1873.
Never mind, perhaps SoG - to whom my regards must be given! - is good at consoling the desolate (if you can understand him, he's Scottish you know). But it's high time you studied a language I'm interested in, in a city I'd like to go to. How about Bambara in Timbuktu? If that doesn't work we can always join the foreign legion.
Alas, I fear so near but yet so far. I have everything locked down already, it's partly a business trip and partly to attend a friend's wedding, and in between there was only a skerrick of opportunity to gallivant. I'm actually flying through Paris, but only for the sake of changing silver birds at CDG.
I'm amused by the implicit proposition that (even in juxtaposition with Russia) Italy is not a country run by gangsters. They just wear a better cut of cloth! But I know what you mean. When I studied in Russia I always got very nervous when I saw police walking along the street towards me. At one stage, our school warned us not to go out unless absolutely necessary as there was a bit of anti-foreigner violence going on. After that I was counting the days until I was out of there, although I seriously doubted even your average vodka-sodden loutski would mistake me for a Georgian or a Pakistani.
If you like classic Italian effusiveness the further south you go the more you get of it. Sicily may be worth considering. I agree with the discounting of Rome, Naples, Turin, Milan, etc. Siena maybe not, it's only really inundated during the summer season between the Palio days and is otherwise a bit of a backwater. Lucca might have something. Padova. They're all lovely places. All roads lead to Venice, you can pick it off at your leisure, no particular reason to study there.
I only went to Bologna once and it struck me as being a bit grungy. Plus, Italy has some rough financial roads ahead and Bologna has a history of hardcore political activism. Being caught up in the middle of the Italian indignati might strike you as being either thrilling or terrifying.
I studied in Perugia, which I heartily recommend. It's a delightful city with both a conventional university and one dedicated to teaching foreigners, the Universita per Stranieri. Great location, plenty to do, lots of student life and all in all a supportive environment in which to learn Italian.
I'm plotting a business manufacturing tempeh; it's a furry flurry of industry down here at Bandicoot Beanerie! And I have a newly bought burrow with plenty of spare digs so you're welcome any time you decide to study abroad to learn proper English.
Oh, very busy all round with the jelly shoes marketing initiative. And in the annoyingly real world, have not long ago moved across the continent to a new abode where the sky is low enough to touch and pademelons kindly trim (and fertilise) the lawn by night. It's not a bad place; I might have to do a list about same.
You are overdue an Exotic Language Adventure As Told In Alternately Quirky And Obscure Blog. What's next, foxbrother?
I know you're probably busy this time of year--not that there's any particular reason you would be... I mean it's not like you're the Santa Fox or something. Ahem. Anyway, I just wanted to let you know that every time I see the word droll, I think of you.
I was watching a German language movie last night in which the following scene took place. I'll render most of it in English as I'm only interested in one word.
(Family is sitting at table. Son, a football tragic, is sulking because his favourite team lost.)
Mother: Why aren't you eating?
Daughter: Rot-Weiss Essen lost 1-0.
Mother: So what, they always lose.
Son: Kvatsch! (runs out of room)
So what is this kvatsch? From the context it would mean something like 'nonsense' but I can't find it in dictionaries that I regularly use online. Are you familiar with it? Coulld I be regional dialect? The family in the movie had the name Lubanski and were Catholic so I've ruled out a Yiddish borrowing.
Merci, 'zuzu! Reynard is back on U.S. soil. Enjoying a day in YOUR NATION'S CAPITAL before heading back to San Francisco for WAGNER WEEK. (Eine ganze Woche vollgestopft mit Wotan, Walkueren, und anderem wagnerischen Ungeziefer)
Don't miss the final 20 seconds of the 3-minute video, as the soul of Siegfried, decked out in his best ABBA outfit, crawls up the Venetian blinds like a cancerous moth ! No wonder the producer was roundly booed when he appeared on stage at the end.
The comment feature on my Whipping Cats blog should now be fixed, so that there should no longer be any difficulty in posting comments. Please let me know (e.g. by sending me a message here, or by e-mail) if you encounter problems.
Even anonymous marsupials should be able to comment.
Thanks, Bill B. I'm hoping to come back here in the autumn because, indeed, there is something about Paris that lifts my foxy spirits. Plus, I love learning French, which is a step above Thpanish in difficulty. But I intend to subdue it and bend it to my will. Because until that is done I can't move on to Italian.
I would post this on your profile, but you are invisible to us all here in the material world. Do marsupials ever leave the DUMPP (down-under marsupial protection program)?
It's another one of Foxy's infamous grammar rants , this time about the hideosity of prepositional verbs in general, with special attention given to the ludicrosity of Russian verbs of motion, and the mondo bizarro of the infamous bog of Irish prepositional pronouns.
After my umpteenth attempt in a month to comment on your blog using my openID account, which works everyweb else, I just give up. I hope you will forgive me. I even reported the bug to the Wordpress guys (my openID is Wordpress) but they have no idea why that happens. Signé, Le pika sarde
Thanks, db: I think "burrowing" is a correct, but unimaginative, translation of rataconniculation, as it fails to capture the animal connotations of the latter,having to do with rats, puppies & bunnies. "Cannicula" is, according to Webster's, a common misspelling of "Canicula", another name for Sirius, the dog-star, and related to the Latin word for puppies; "Karnickel" is also a German word for "bunny", which is derived from the word "cunicula", which I think means "rabbit" in Latin.
By the way, though I don't necessarily agree with you on the particular instance, I greatly admire the passion of your lexicological rant over on gasometer. As somebody else mentioned, everyone is entitled to a few particular pet peeves (see discussion under data, for instance), and what is Wordnik for, if not to allow one to vent one's frustrations about one's word-related peeves?