Showing posts with label Monty Python. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Monty Python. Show all posts

Friday, March 13, 2015

OUTRAGEOUS SCANDAL ROCKS BRITAIN!!!


Heads are wagging  all over Europe:

Ed Miliband tries to defuse ‘two kitchens’ row
ED Miliband has tried to defuse controversy over the kitchen arrangements at his £2 million town house in London - by insisting he only “uses the small one”.
http://www.scotsman.com/news/uk/ed-miliband-tries-to-defuse-two-kitchens-row-1-3718704#comments-area

He can writhe and wiggle all he wants -- this is the most insalubrious outrage since that of the notorious Arthur “Two Sheds” Jackson!

Portrait of the perp,
attempting to deny the obvious:

Shameful !!!!!!


Shocking details here:
(Must be over 21 to view.)

For further heavy-breathing British scandals, try this:
  L'affaire Keeler


Sunday, April 13, 2014

What NOT to name the baby


In the United States, in recent decades, such controversy as there exists over names for newborns  focuses on tasteless extravagances by the socially marginal:  “Messiah”, “Moon Unit”, and names with non-alphabetic characters (brilliantly anticipated by Monty Python in a classic sketch).

Now Saudi Arabia has banned fifty names -- a few of them quite traditional (Binyamin, `Abd-al-Nâsir) but currently associated with prominent personae non gratae.   So, if you are planning on residing in the Kingdom, and are wondering how to christen the bundle of joy, take care to avoid these:

Malaak (angel)
Abdul Aati
Abdul Naser
Abdul Musleh
Nabi (prophet)
Nabiyya (female prophet)
Amir (prince)
Sumuw (highness)
Al Mamlaka (the kingdom)
Malika (queen)
Mamlaka (kingdom)
Tabarak (blessed)
Nardeen
Maya
Linda
Randa
Basmala (utterance of the name of God)
Taline
Aram
Nareej
Rital
Alice
Sandy
Rama (Hindu god)
Maline
Elaine
Inar
Maliktina
Lareen
Kibrial
Lauren
Binyamin (Arabic for Benjamin)
Naris
Yara
Sitav
Loland
Tilaj
Barrah
Abdul Nabi
Abdul Rasool
Jibreel (angel Gabriel)
Abdul Mu’een
Abrar
Iman
Bayan
Baseel
Wireelam


(In the matter of “Moon Unit”, the article is silent.)


For an audio-essay on this news item, by Leila Babès:


For our own fatwa on the matter:


Friday, January 10, 2014

My apologies to M. le Président



I know of no sadder sight  than a commander who has little of command but the name.
-- Melville, Benito Cereno (1855)


Certain passages over the course of these essays (here, and here), might have been construed as suggesting that the French President, M. F. Hollande, is a bumbling, shambling, mealy-mouthed crowd-courting doofus;  a lackwit wazzock a waddling dumpling, a toddling butterball upon the world stage, upon which Fortuna has improvidently cast him.  Nothing, it turns out, could be further from the truth, if we are to credit the testimonies of the following lucid-skinned, diamond-eyed hottie:

Il fait chic, dans mon sac!

Let the French newspaper of record tell it:

La rumeur court depuis des mois mais Closer dit en avoir la preuve. Le magazine people affirme que François Hollande entretiendrait une liaison avec la comédienne française Julie Gayet. Vers 23 heures jeudi, le magazine a annoncé sur son site une édition spéciale pour le lendemain «révélant dans un dossier spécial de 7 pages les photos de la relation entre le chef de l'État et la comédienne». L'Élysée a réagi dès 7 heures vendredi matin. François Hollande «déplore profondément les atteintes au respect de la vie privée auquel il a droit comme tout citoyen» et «examine les suites, y compris judiciaires, à apporter à cette parution».

La une de Closer titre sur «L'amour secret du président: il passe ses nuits avec elle à deux pas de l'Élysée». «Autour du jour de l'An, le chef de l'État, casque sur la tête, rejoint à scooter la comédienne dans son pied-à-terre où le président a pris l'habitude de passer la nuit», écrit Closer sur son site . D'après l'hebdomadaire, «ces rendez-vous secrets» auraient commencé en juin 2013.

«Des photos étonnantes, poursuit l'hebdomadaire, qui pose aussi la question de la sécurité du président. Le chef de l'État est accompagné d'un seul garde du corps qui protège le secret de ces rencontres avec la comédienne et apporte même les croissants!»

It is that detail of the bodyguard supplying the croissants for these trysts -- that objective correlative, as Eliot would put it -- which lifts this saga from the level of the sordid, to the realm of the sublime.

Having already shown his iron resolve by threatening prosecution of the comedian who invented the gesture of the “quenelle” (La justice interdit le spectacle de Dieudonné ), M. Hollande, with perfect conséquence, is thus threatening the newspaper as well.



~

The magazine promised photographs, but none were actually of the Président and his paramour in flagrante.   Rather (in the manner of that Monty Python spoof of tabloid television blackmailing highly placed men with a secret, initially showing only blurry and ambiguous images, while the cost of hush-money keeps rising as the film advances) they presented a photo of two helmeted figures on a Vespa, on which the President riding bitch.  (A perfect metaphor for his domestic policy.)

~

For further sober, high-toned, scientific examinations (suitable for use in the classroom, to supplement Civics texts) of Sex and the Hegagon, try these:
http://worldofdrjustice.blogspot.com/2012/09/une-affaire-grave-updated.html


~

[Update 11 January 2014]
Some caviling commenter with a sketchy display-name (vide infra) kvetches that this post lacks gravitas.   We-ell --  You want gravitas, we got vats of it !  Simply turn on the tap.

Ahem.  This whole affaire, from quenelle to the bit-o’-jam, well illustrates the Cyclic Theory of History.
Was it not the great historian Ibn-Khaldun who said… something quite relevant, one feels sure, but which at present escapes me.   In any case, Hegel then went on to say that “History repeats itself”;  to which Marx remarked,  “Hegel forgot to mention:  the first time as tragedy -- the second time as farce!”
To which now Dr Justice appends [epigram ©2014, all rights reserved, y compris en URSS and in Taleban-controlled areas of Afghanistan]:  “… and the third time as French politics !” ® TM    (Or alors ça, c’est bien un bon mot.)



[Update 18 January 2014]  Pour préciser. 
In further defense of the much-maligned Président, who has presided  like a toad squatting on a stone  over the further deline of France, allow me to object, contra to his various detractors, that his sordid moped-borne nocturnal trysts  do not//NOT  constitute actual “adultery”,  since  wife  has he none.   Rather, they were an infidelity (if you can even call it that, for someone with no conception of faith) vis-à-vis his current (and easily disposible) concubine (a different hetaira, whose name is here -- and elsewhere -- of no consequence).   Hollande himself has always denounced the sacrament of marriage as a “bourgeois institution”, and can in no way be criticized for demeaning something of which he has not the slightest understanding:  any more than a garden slug, having (which God forfend) somehow slimed its way up onto the communion table, could possibly desecrate the consecrated Host.  


[Update 27 mars 2014]   Anthony Lane, reviewing the new Tavernier film “Quai d'Orsay” (the title which Wiki gives it in English as well, though apparently it has recently been dumbed down for American audiences as “The French Minister”, rather the way the first Harry Potter book, “The Philosopher’s Stone”, had to become “The Sorcerer’s Stone” to cross the Atlantic), highlights the femme fatale character:

She is played by Julie Gayet, who was in the news recently as the woman to whom the real French President, François Hollande, was paying regular visits  on his little scooter.  And her character is called Valérie, which is the name of the partner whom Hollande was allegedly spurning for Mme. Gayet.  This is not life imitating art.  This is art going to bed with life  and staying there for the afternoon.
-- The New Yorker, 31 March 2014

A nice touch, that, by the way -- “his little scooter”.  This is artful of Mr Lane, suggesting that what the dumpling Hollande has between his legs is pretty small, and goes putt-putt.

Sunday, July 28, 2013

Naming & Necessity


In a celebrated lecture by that title, later reprinted as a booklet, the philosopher Saul Kripke argues for an account of proper names as being in origin ostensive/baptismal, handed down then  to the generations  by a sort of isnâd (to use the term of Islamic traditionaries).   This, by contrast with the more traditional understanding of names achieving their reference via matching some understood description -- you manage to pick out Aristotle from amidst the hordes of shades, by his embodying certain characteristics --  teacher of Alexander, author of the Organon, known to his homeys as “the Stagirite”.

The essay sparked an extensive debagte, to which I would not presume to attempt to contribute;  save that one signal example, supportive of Kripke’s a-posteriori necessitarian position, has never, to my knowledge, been cited in the literature.   Namely:  How (on the descriptive account) do you pick out an individual who has no characteristics? 
I refer, of course, to the Mann ohne Eigenschaften, to whom the novelist Robert Musil  has dedicated an extensive tome (widely praised, though seldom read).

To be sure:  Lacking all characteristics  is itself a kind of (meta-)characteristic, distinguishing its (non)bearer much like the “Invisible Man” of Monty Python.

A critic might object, How do you know you have managed to pick out precisely that individual by that (meta-)description, “the Man without Qualities” -- rather than a whole grey horde of characterless/uncharacterizable wannabes and also-rans? 
This conundrum brings to mind some mysterious passages in Quine’s essay “Ontological Relativity”, which basically posit a kind of non-identity of indiscernibles:  things you might quantify over, on the substitutional sense of quantification, but at the same time slur over, since they lack individual names, and may be indistinguishable from any of the named entities.

Well -- nunc dimittis, I have said enough;  time for a nightcap, and so to bed.   Perhaps these puzzles may be unraveled by our grandchildren.

Saturday, April 27, 2013

Let’s Have a Heart-to-Heart Talk about Mice


Who among us does not recall, and recite from memory, the well-known lines of überScots poet Robert “Bobby” Burns?  (Well, Henry doesn’t, but he can be left out of account.):

The best laid schemes o' Mice an' Men,
     Gang aft agley,

Many people ask me, “What’s with that ‘gang aft agley’, anyway?  Where’s that at?”   And I answer:  Burns was a Scotsman, dummy, plaid to the core;   Scotsmen talk funny, as you can verify from any episode of “Monty Python”;  next question.


But the real reason I called you all here today, is to lay out the sober truth about a different, and little-noticed, problem with that poem:  the best-laid plans of mice.  Their plans (“schemes” in Scots) are not actually very well-laid, if truth be told.  Oh, they’re frisky little fellows, and furry enough, twitchy little whiskers and ears like a Mouseketeer -- but they don’t really specifically plan things.   They just sort of -- scurry around at random, and whatever happens, happens.   Perhaps if they would do just a little more planning, they wouldn’t be eaten so much, in abundance, mouthful after tasty “mouseful”, by just about every other animal you can name.   But -- Che será, será, says the mouse.