A novel kind of March Madness

The good folks over at “First Thoughts” have just concluded a Tournament of Novels, in which sixty-four great works were pitted against each other in four brackets, in the same style as the NCAA March Madness tournament. “First Thoughts” is the blog of First Things, a periodical “published by The Institute on Religion and Public Life, an interreligious, nonpartisan research and education institute whose purpose is to advance a religiously informed public philosophy for the ordering of society” (so says their website). For those unfamiliar with the magazine, as I was until now, be sure to take a look at one of the feature articles in their current (April 2010) issue, “Science Friction”, which discusses, among other things, the 1943 kerfuffle between C.S. Lewis and Arthur C. Clarke. You can read the article online, here.

But back to the Tournament of Novels. As with any bracket competition, a lot depends on how the original sixty-four contenders are selected, as well as how they are seeded against one another. Such subjective issues set on one side, the list was very broadly representative of the best works of world literature (but disproportionately favoring Western Europe and the United States). A few choices and omissions were surprising, but most of the greats are there: Tolstoy, Melville, Twain, Hawthorne, Austen, Joyce, and plenty of others. Of more interest to Lingwë readers, I daresay, we had authors such as Robert Heinlein, Orson Scott Card, Ray Bradbury, Douglas Adams, Stephen King, Frank Herbert, and of course, J.R.R. Tolkien.

Well, it’s fait accompli now. And the results were a repeat of many surveys before — Waterstone’s in 1997, Amazon.com’s in 1999, and plenty of others — crowning Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings as the ultimate champion. In fact, in the Tournament finals, The Lord of the Rings decimated Mark Twain’s The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn by roughly nine to one.

This merely confirms what we have known all along, that The Lord of the Rings is one of the greatest novels ever written. At the same time, I think my wife has a good point that the novel largely owes its impressive showing in surveys of this sort to the cult of Tolkien. She’s right. How many Melville or Twain fanboys do you find out there, scribbling away obsessively on blogs and discussion groups? Not many.

For those who are curious, the complete list of contenders follows. Any glaring omissions, in your opinion? Any peculiar choices here? Who do you think should have won? And if the answer reconfirms the vote of the masses, then do you agree with Twain as runner-up? Or would you have rather seen a different second place finsher? Myself, I was disappointed at the omission of Graham Greene. And there were no representatives of the modern African novel. How about Chinua Achebe or Ben Okri? Nothing from the Far East either.

Anna Karenina, Tolstoy
The Brothers Karamazov, Dostoevsky
Ulysses, Joyce
The Great Gatsby, Fitzgerald
Moby-Dick, Melville
Robinson Crusoe, Defoe
Pale Fire, Nabokov
Gravity’s Rainbow, Pynchon
Pride and Prejudice, Austen
Wuthering Heights, Brontë
Starship Troopers, Heinlein
Ender’s Game, Card
Daniel Deronda, Eliot
To The Lighthouse, Woolf
The Lord Of The Rings, Tolkien
Atlas Shrugged, Rand
Brave New World, Huxley
1984, Orwell
Gulliver’s Travels, Swift
Alice’s Adventures In Wonderland, Carroll
On The Road, Kerouac
The Catcher in the Rye, Salinger
Lord of the Flies, Golding
To Kill A Mockingbird, Lee
Beloved, Morrison
Wise Blood, O’Connor
The Way We Live Now, Trollope
The Wapshot Chronicles, Cheever
Gone With The Wind, Mitchell
Madame Bovary, Flaubert
David Copperfield, Dickens
Jane Eyre, Bronte
A Bend In The River, Naipaul
A Clockwork Orange, Burgess
Adventures Of Huckleberry Finn, Twain
Don Quixote, Cervantes
The Hunt For Red October, Clancy
The Big Sleep, Chandler
Arrowsmith, Lewis
Herzog, Bellow
In Search Of Lost Time, Proust
Brideshead Revisited, Waugh
Invisible Man, Ellison
Native Son, Wright
One Hundred Years Of Solitude, Márquez
Portnoy’s Complaint, Roth
The Book Of Laughter And Forgetting, Kundera
The Charterhouse Of Parma, Stendhal
The Stand, King
The Plague, Camus
The Sound And The Fury, Faulkner
The Sun Also Rises, Hemingway
The Call Of The Wild, London
Slaughterhouse Five, Vonnegut
The Scarlet Letter, Hawthorne
The Trial, Kafka
The Pilgrim’s Progress, Bunyan
U.S.A. (Trilogy), Dos Passos
Dune, Herbert
The Hitchhiker’s Guide To The Galaxy, Adams
The Moviegoer, Percy
Under The Volcano, Lowry
Charlotte’s Web, White
Fahrenheit 451, Bradbury

Tolkien in Who’s Who in Literature, 1925

Quite by chance I recently came across an interesting piece of very early Tolkien ephemera: an entry in the 1925 edition of Who’s Who in Literature. The publication is “[a] continuance”, so we’re told, “of the Bibliographical Section of THE LITERARY YEAR BOOK (Founded 1897)”, and edited by one Mark Meredith.Tolkien’s entry, which long predates The Lord of the Rings and even The Hobbit, reads as follows:

TOLKIEN, John Ronal [sic] Reuel, M.A. B. 1892. Au. of A Middle English Vocabulary (Clar. Pr.), 1922; Sir Gawain and the Green Knight (do.), 1924; Selections from Chaucer (do.), 1925. C. Times Lit. Suppl., Year’s Work in English Studies, Yorkshire Poetry, The Microcosm. 2, DARNLEY ROAD, WEST PARK, LEEDS. [1]

Yes, the typographical error for Ronald is right there in black and white, for all posterity to gawp at. Thank heaven they spelled his surname correctly!

This is the earliest such entry I have seen. Wayne Hammond and Christina Scull do make reference to entries for Tolkien in Who’s Who, citing previously unpublished sources such as the archives of Tolkien’s publisher, George Allen & Unwin. But these appear to be much later ones, long postdating The Hobbit and in some cases even The Lord of the Rings. It is also clearly not the same early entry still in print, as the Who’s Who entry discussed later also contained Tolkien’s telephone number. [2]

First, let me explain the abbreviations, because I chose not to intrude with square brackets of my own. Most are pretty self-explanatory: Au. “Author of”, B. “Year of Birth”, and C. “Contributor to”. Clar. Pr. refers to the Clarendon Press, an imprint of the Oxford University Press. A bit more opaque to us today is “do.”, which is (or was) the standard abbreviation for “ditto”. That is, each of the three books attributed to Tolkien are identified as Clarendon Press publications.

Now, there are several interesting things in this blurb. For one, Tolkien and E.V. Gordon’s edition of Sir Gawain and the Green Knight was actually published in 1925, not 1924 as stated here. Gordon, by the way, is not in the 1925 Who’s Who. But more interestingly, Selections from Chaucer, given a date of 1925, probably refers to the so-called Clarendon Chaucer. Assuming so, this was originally conceived as a collection of writings other than The Canterbury Tales, aimed at younger readers. A half-title proof survives, in which the proposed volume is entitled Selections from Chaucer’s Poetry and Prose, which matches Who’s Who well enough. Tolkien was a co-editor of this volume with E.V. Gordon George S. Gordon, under the supervision of Kenneth Sisam — familiar names at this point in Tolkien’s bibliography. From its first conception in 1922 through roughly 1925, the volume took shape, but then it stalled until around 1930. Following this, some additional progress was made over a year or two, after which it stalled again, never to recover. The inclusion in Who’s Who was therefore, sadly, premature, as the material Tolkien prepared for it was never published. [3]

Regarding the contributions referred to in the blurb, these are (taken in the order given above):

• “Holy Maidenhood”, a review of Hali Meidenhad: An Alliterative Homily of the 13th Century, edited by F.J. Furnivall (Early English Text Society, 1922), written, but unsigned, by Tolkien, and published April 26, 1923.


• Tolkien wrote substantial essays on “Philology: General Works” for The Year’s Work in English Studies covering 1923–5, and appearing in 1924, 1926, and 1927, respectively. Most likely, the Who’s Who blurb refers only to the first of these three.


• Tolkien’s poem “The Cat and the Fiddle” appeared in the Oct./Nov. 1923 issue of Yorkshire Poetry (Vol. 2, No. 19), published by the Swan Press, Leeds.


• And finally, Tolkien’s sonnet “The City of the Gods” appeared in the Spring 1923 issue of The Microcosm (Vol. 8, No. 1). For those who would like to read the poem, it has been reprinted in John Garth’s Tolkien and the Great War and in The Book of Lost Tales, Part 1, edited by Christopher Tolkien. Interestingly, Tolkien’s rhyme scheme — a b a b c d c d e e f g g f — appears to be a nonce form; it’s not the Petrarchan, Shakespearean, or Spenserian. Does anyone recognize that rhyme scheme?

And last, but not least, there is the address of Tolkien’s home in Leeds. The helps us to zero in a bit further on the date of the blurb. The Tolkiens were living in the house on Darnley Road from March 5, 1924 on, and they moved out of it (to their better known address of 22 Northmoor Road, Oxford) on January 7, 1926. Because the blurb identifies the edition of Sir Gawain and the Green Knight as 1924 (unless this is a mere slip), my guess would be that the edition was then still forthcoming, and that the blurb therefore dates to the period between March and December 1924. It is also possible that the Who’s Who appeared later, with much of its contents already stale or otherwise in error. It doesn’t really matter too much, but with ephemera such as this, it’s always nice to try to get the best idea one can of its origins.

A couple of closing questions. Isn’t it nice, and perhaps even a bit surprising, to see Tolkien being recognized for his literary efforts (philology, criticism, and poetry) so long before his eternal fame would be made by The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings? And who might have submitted his name and abbreviated vita to Who’s Who in the first place? Was it Tolkien himself? Leeds? Or Oxford or its Press?


[1] Meredith, Mark (ed.). Who’s Who in Literature (1925 Edition), A continuance of the Bibliographical Section of THE LITERARY YEAR BOOK (Founded 1897). Liverpool: The Literary Year Books Press, [1925], p. 433.

[2] Scull, Christina and Wayne G. Hammond. The J.R.R. Tolkien Companion and Guide: Chronology. Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 2006, pp. 396, 486, 590, 664, et seq.

[3] For more information on the Clarendon Chaucer, see Scull, Christina and Wayne G. Hammond. The J.R.R. Tolkien Companion and Guide: Reader’s Guide. Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 2006, pp. 153–6.

The road to Hell is paved with good equations

Richard Scott Nokes has an interesting post over at the Unlocked Wordhoard, in which he takes a stab at calculating the distance between Milton’s Heaven and Hell. Actually, his student took the stab, and he only reported the results. To set the context, let’s have a look first at what Paradise Lost has to say:

Th’ infernal Serpent; he it was whose guile,
Stirred up with envy and revenge, deceived
The mother of mankind, what time his pride
Had cast him out from Heaven, with all his host
Of rebel Angels, by whose aid, aspiring
To set himself in glory above his peers,
He trusted to have equalled the Most High,
If he opposed, and with ambitious aim
Against the throne and monarchy of God,
Raised impious war in Heaven and battle proud,
With vain attempt. Him the Almighty Power
Hurled headlong flaming from th’ ethereal sky,
With hideous ruin and combustion, down
To bottomless perdition, there to dwell
In adamantine chains and penal fire,
Who durst defy th’ Omnipotent to arms.
Nine times the space that measures day and night
To mortal men, he, with his horrid crew,
Lay vanquished, rolling in the fiery gulf,
Confounded, though immortal.
[I.34–53]

So, as Nokes says, “Satan and the rebel angels fall for nine days through Chaos before landing in Hell.” His student calculated the result to be 25,920 miles. Now I am not going to object that this is an impossibly small distance — noting that the distance between the earth and the moon alone is some ten times as great. No, in the mythopoeic world of Milton’s Paradise Lost, I’m perfectly willing to accept that theological space is not necessarily the same as physical space (never mind that we are applying Newtonian mechanics — a tool of regular space — to the problem).

No, my concern is in some of the assumptions. “The math,” Nokes points out, “assumes that the terminal velocity of a falling angel is 176 ft/sec through a matrix of chaos.” Why assume this value? As we all know, terminal velocity depends on the shape, size, and orientation of the falling object, as well as on the viscosity or density of the material through which the object is falling. It depends also on the gravitational force being exerted on the object, which is around 9.8m/sec² — but only at sea-level on planet Earth. The gravitational force in other parts of space is completely difference; hence, terminal velocity in those regions also has different bounding parameters. It also depends on the initial force of God’s wrath (as Nokes mentions) — but was there torque involved? And if so, what is the radius of the circle described by God’s radius?

“Being that,” we are further told, “chaos probably has no air or fluid to resist movement through drag or friction (since it is a void), terminal velocity would be the same as initial velocity.” Well, I’m willing to accept that chaos might indeed be a vacuum, but if so, I don’t think this statement that the terminal velocity equals the initial velocity is true. In that case, there would be no acceleration. But we know that there is — unless we are talking about a perfect vacuum in which there are no objects to exert gravitations forces. But I would assume that Heaven and Hell both are quite gravitationally massive, wouldn’t you? In which case, velocity would converge asymptotically on the speed of light (without ever reaching it).

Let’s come at this from another angel — er, I mean, angle. According to our good friends at Wikipedia (because, let’s face it, it’s been fifteen years since my college physics classes), you can reduce terminal velocity to the following equation:

That’s if you can set aside buoyancy effects (which I think we can). Here, g is the acceleration due to gravity. As I said above, I think we’ve got to consider g a large, but unknown, constant. I think we can all agree it’s probably not the relatively weak 9.8m/sec² of our familiar Terra Cognita. The other part of the numerator of the fraction is m, the mass of the falling object. Would an angel have a mass much larger than that of a human being? Or perhaps, because they’re incorporeal by nature, much, much smaller? Hmm, let’s move on.

In the denominator, ρ is the density of the air or fluid through which the object is falling. The conventional wisdom might be that the “chaos” in question is rarified to the point of being a near-vacuum, a “void”; thus, ρ should approach 0. But on the other hand, a vacuum, even a very rarified near-vacuum, doesn’t sound very “chaotic”, does it? Perhaps ρ is actually very large, with a commotion of heavy molecules of air bouncing and colliding in every direction at all times.

Another factor, A, must be taken into account. This is the cross-sectional surface area of the falling body. I already broached the question of whether angels are light, since incorporeal; or heavy, since much greater than man. What about their size? Wouldn’t we have to think they’re very large indeed — at least as compared to people, or to a serpent — even if they are very light? Therefore, A is large. Er, but hang on a moment! How many angels was it that could dance on the head of pin? Maybe A is very small. Hmm.

Finally, we have Cd, the coefficient of drag. For a human being, oriented upright, the drag coefficient is in the neighborhood of around 1.0, roughly the same as for a simple cube; but for other shapes, and in different orientations, the coefficient may be higher or lower. Would an angel fall through space like a cube (1.0) or a sphere (0.47) — or perhaps more like a bullet (0.295) or even a Boeing 747 (0.031)? And would the angel twist and turn during his fall, resulting in a dynamic drag coefficient, changing with each gyration? Or would he clasp his hands to his chest and resolve himself to fall gracefully and without complaint, come what may? It all makes a difference to the calculations!

There are, alas, too many unknowns for us to arrive at any final answer. In the numerator, we think that the acceleration due to gravity should be very large, but the mass of the angel could be either very great or teensy-weensy. In the denominator, we think that the density of chaos is probably pretty great — or else it wouldn’t be called “chaos” — but we must acknowledge that it could be very little ( “void”). The cross-sectional surface area of the falling angel could be enormous, or infinitesimal. And the drag coefficient, well, who in the hell knows?

So, let’s see. Turn a few beads on the ol’ abacus. Putting this all together, it look’s like the answer is probably ... uh ... somewhere between a couple of beard-seconds and perhaps a megaparsec. I can live with the uncertainty. How about you?

Diversion: Canterbury Tales Rap

You’ll either love it or hate it. It really gets going about twenty seconds in. :)

Friday Diversion: Tolkien in the Golden Age of Hollywood

I’ll let this clever piece of film editing speak for itself. Peter Lorre makes a great Gollum, doesn’t he? Enjoy! :)

Cleaning out the liquor cabinet

As you know by now, I’m in the middle of moving after eight years at the same address. And with moving (especially after eight years! ;) comes the tedious chore of going through everything one has accumulated since the last move and getting rid of at least a third of it. Out with the old, in with the new. And that includes the liquor cabinet. So I dusted off a few exotic bottles I’d only opened once — or in some cases never yet — to give them a proper sendoff. In the order tasted, they were:

Xtabentún
This is a distilled spirit made out of honey from the pollen of the xtabentún flower. It comes from the Yucatán Peninsula in eastern Mexico, and the name (like the recipe) is Mayan. It goes back more than a thousand years and was once a libation offered to the gods. Xtabentún, according to our good friends at Wikipedia, means “vines growing on stone”, which reminds me of the Scott Smith novel The Ruins (now a Hollywood film). Fortunately, Xtabentún is not so insidious, but it is every bit as potent at 30% alcohol by volume.

It tastes just like you’d expect — like fermented honey, with just a hint of cough medicine, hae. It’s very sweet and syrupy, and it’s a pale straw-gold in color. The bouquet (have I crossed over into total pretentiousness yet? :) is very herbaceous, and reminded me at once of Drambuie. Overall: pretty good.

Chinese Honey Wine
A friend brought this bottle back to me from a visit to mainland China. He told me it was between this bottle (a completely clear distilled honey wine) and the bottle that was full of actual bees. I wish he’d picked the bee-filled bottle, if only for shock value, but a gift is a gift. I never could read the Chinese label, though, so I can’t tell you much else about this one, except that it’s a completely transparent spirit, with a fainter nose than the Xtabentún, a drier flavor, a less syrupy viscosity, and probably a higher alcohol content (I’m guessing 35–40%). Overall: not bad; better in some ways, worse in others, than the Xtabentún.

Gusano Rojo Mezcal
One of the better known of the genuine Mezcals from Oaxaca, in southern Mexico. Contrary to popular belief, it’s not in Tequila that you find the infamous worm (the Mexican bottling authority prohibits insects in Tequila — funny that somebody felt a law was necessary for that!); it’s in Mezcal, of which there are probably as many varieties as there are species of the agave plant from which it’s made. Again, thanks to Wikipedia, there are two common types of “worm” used in Mezcal (and actually, neither one is really a worm at all). In my case, the gusano rojo is “the caterpillar of the Hypopta agavis moth, one of the several kinds of ‘maguey worm’, found on the agave plant.” Bottoms up!

First, let me say this: if you haven’t tried Mezcal, you’re in for a shock. I’ve tried a few, and (paraphrasing George Orwell), drinking a shot of Mezcal feels like being hit in the back of the head with a rubber mallet. God help those who drink an entire bottle! I can’t understand the appeal of it, to be honest. It tastes terrible — however, it’s even more potent than Tequila, so I suppose it’s alluring to anyone with something to forget. Whatever else it is, Mezcal is not subtle. It’s 40% alcohol by volume, but it feels much worse. Anyway, this Mezcal was a pale yellow in color (a little paler than the Xtabentún; perhaps it was añejo), with a pale white “worm” and a packet of salt and ground chili pepper to chase it. And it needed chasing, let me assure you! As bad as the Mezcal tasted, the worm was nothing at all. It was soft and basically pickled, and I chewed the fellow up almost without realizing it.

El Señor Mezcal (con Scorpion)
Andrew Zimmern, look out! I saved the “Fear Factor” shot for last! Most Mezcals are made con gusano (“with a worm”), but on a trip to Mexico, I saw this bottle, con scorpion (“with a scorpion”), and simply could not pass it up. It made for quite a conversation piece on our wine rack, let me tell you! A buddy and I drank a shot of this a couple of years ago, but the scorpion was safely chillaxing at the bottom of the bottle ... until now.

This Mezcal, at a disingenuous 40% alcohol by volume, was completely clear (joven or reposado, I expect), the better to highlight the critter at the bottom. The scorpion was a good deal bigger than the worm, and the second biggest scorpion I’ve ever actually seen with my own eyes (the biggest was the “pet” of an old high school and college friend). See the photos below for an idea of what I was up against! But down he went! The Mezcal was just as bad as ever, and this time, the critter was worse. Years of pickling had done nothing to soften this bastard’s exoskeleton, so the crunchy texture was the worst part about it. As to the taste (the worm had none), eating this fellow was rather like chewing up tree bark, and I was picking bits of him out of my teeth all night. More than you wanted to know, I’m sure!

But Hobbits don’t wear socks!

Still busy, busy, busy moving, but I just saw this and had to share — hobbit socks (courtesy of Boing Boing). Of course, Hobbits themselves don’t wear socks, and rarely wear footwear of any kind (though Bilbo did don a pair of boots during part of his travels). Still, if they did wear socks, I’m sure any Baggins, Took, or Brandybuck would love a pair of these! Heck, I wouldn’t mind a pair myself! Very cute, and nicely made. Complimentary color scheme and design elements from Tolkien’s dust-jacket design for The Hobbit, too, as you can see here.

Actually, they match the color scheme of my blog, too. Easy on the eyes. You’re welcome! ;)

Snow in Dallas — in March!

Snow isn’t very common here in Dallas — a fact which makes a lot of sense when you consider that we’re at the same latitude as the northern Sahara of Morocco, Algeria, and Tunisia as well as the arid Near East of Lebanon, Iraq, Iran, and Afghanistan. We do get it occasionally, but it’s seldom very much, seldom stays on the ground very long, and seldom never falls in March! But here we are with snow twice in one week in March (with the possibility of still more scattered flurries today and tonight). The system that passed through yesterday dropped as much as 9 inches of snow on parts of North Texas (and brought tornadoes as well). Oh, and between the snowfalls, we had a sunny, beautiful, 71° day. Madness!

Here’s a video showing what it looked like in parts of Dallas:



Near our house, we only got a light dusting (“no more than a white coverlet to cool a hobbit’s toes”). Here are a few photos I took this morning near White Rock Lake (click to enlarge):

Tackiest headline ever

As some of you may have heard, Gary Gygax, the cocreator of the immensely popular game, Dungeons and Dragons, died yesterday at the age of 69. I played my share of D&D as a kid, forging many adolescent friendships over those campaigns. The game has been responsible for reinforcing (and in some cases, helping to actively define) the fantasy genre for more than thirty years now. It was even featured in the film, E.T., at the height of its popularity. (And don’t get me started on Mazes and Monsters, first a novel and then a dreadful film, released the same year as E.T., and starring a young Tom Hanks.) D&D was also the forefather of new games like the customizable card game, Magic: The Gathering, as well as online games like Everquest and World of Warcraft — though the text-based MUD culture was an intermediary facilitator in their development.

So what’s the tackiest headline you can imagine for announcing his death? How about this one — “D&D cocreator Gary Gygax now beyond scope of healing spells.” And yes, this is a real headline. Here’s the source. For their sake, I hope they roll a 20 on their “save vs. hatemail” throw. Heh.

Another item for my to-do list

There’s something I’ve had on my to-do list for quite a long time now: to blog about my wife Jennifer’s to-do lists. I’m not trying to be all “meta” — I’m serious. Her to-do lists are, depending on how you look at them, either a thing of terrifying beauty — or just terrifying. You can see one of them above (that’s right: I said one of them). Click on it for a closer look (not that this will make it any more legible, hahae). And it may sound like a joke, but sometimes, if you look closely, one of the items on her to-do list is ... wait for it ... to make a new to-do list. No kidding! :)

And here’s the truly amazing thing: as much as you can see on her lists, she’s got probably ten times that much in her head, stuff that never makes it all the way to a list. It’s impressive, and a bit intimidating.

But I just came across someone else with an interest in to-do lists. Sasha Cagen has written a book about them, with many examples (culled from the over 5,000 she’s collected). Some are strange, some disturbing, some sad, some funny. All are pretty interesting. Here is a book trailer (a surprisingly good one, unlike others I’ve blogged about).

The Weasleys’ Magic Clock can be yours — sort of

This is fun. Microsoft Researchers in Cambridge (appropriately enough) have developed a technology-based answer to the Weasleys’ Magic Clock — you remember, the one with a hand that indicates the location of each member of the family. Microsoft’s version, which they call the Whereabouts Clock, was clearly inspired by Rowling’s — which is pretty incredible in an of itself. From one of their documents:

The idea of a clock displaying location rather than time, of course, is not new. In the Harry Potter books, the Weasley family has a magic clock with hands for each member of the family indicating their location or state. Our initial design for the home uses icons rather than mechanical hands, and displays only four categories of location [...] We also rely on technology rather than wizardry to make the clock work!

How about that! Where most technology solutions of this sort plot the location of friends and family on maps or cell phones, Microsoft’s new test product shows just how far-reaching J.K. Rowling’s influence on popular culture has become.

Now, if only the Microsoft Whereabouts Clock had a setting for mortal peril like the Weasleys’ Clock!

Pasta sauce from Middle-earth?

A few weeks ago, my wife came across pasta sauces by “Middle Earth Organics” at our local Whole Foods Market. She knew I’d get a kick out of that, so she bought us a couple of them. Turns out, they’re very good!

I couldn’t help but wonder whether Tolkien Enterprise (aka Saul Zaentz) knows about this, or would have any legal complaint about the use of “Middle Earth”. They cast a pretty wide net on the worldwide exclusive rights to “names of characters, places, scenes, things and events” from The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings, and they’ve been known to send out many a C&D over even the most modest offenses. They have every right to profit (in perpetuity, even) from their shrewd purchases of these rights, of course; but sometimes, common sense ought to prevail, I think, especially when a company intends no connection whatsoever with Tolkien. Or when a word or name isn’t Tolkien’s own original creation.

There’s a defensible argument to be made that “Middle Earth” is not Tolkien’s own invention (he admitted as much himself), and that “Middle Earth” may or may not be the same thing as “Middle-earth”, but I’ve never known Tolkien Enterprises to care much for fine distinctions like that. If there’s a licensing fee to be bled from somebody, their professional leeches are always ready with the instruments of torture.

Evanesco! I said, Evanesco!!

I first read this yesterday, but today I came across another version of the story with a better headline: “Harry Potter fan turned in to a road cone head”— and it had pictures! The little Harry Potter fan pictured to the right is pretty adorable, isn’t he? And in the wake of the Dumbledore story, about which I hope to weigh in soon (I think), isn’t it refreshing to see something so cute and light?

Apparently, three-year-old Charlie Thomas put the bright orange traffic cone on his head because it looked like a wizard’s hat. Then, when it wouldn’t come off, I read that he tried a vanishing spell. Industrious little chap! Unfortunately, that didn’t work either. Maybe because he didn’t have a wand. Eventually, the family had to call in reinforcements.

What I don’t get is how it could have taken six firemen to get the traffic cone off his head. I could see two or three: one or two holding onto Charlie, while one pulled on the cone. But six? What were they all doing?!

And by the way, little Charlie’s shirt has some pretty good advice on it. But as he’s only three, he probably couldn’t read it. ;)

Friday diversion – “Potter Rock”

It doesn’t really surprise me to find that people out there are making music based on the Harry Potter universe. What does surprise me is the sheer number of people doing it, and the imagination behind their efforts. Take a peek at a strange assortment of what’s out there, including such acts as:

• Draco and the Malfoys
• The Whomping Willows
• The Parselmouths
• The Remus Lupins
• The Hermione Crookshanks Experience — my personal favorite!

Be sure to check out some of the amusing song titles! Each band has its own website (or MySpace page, ugh) – I won’t link to them all from here, but feel free to follow them on your own and give ’em each a listen. Some of them aren’t half bad (while a few of them are more than half bad indeed, hahae).

Harry Potter Butter

“Hairy butter” — now doesn’t that sound appetizing? But why does it look like he’s wearing overalls? Oh yeah, I forgot this is Iowa; bib overalls are like the official uniform, aren’t they? ;)

Friday diversion

I’ve been on the Net longer than many (going on 18 years now), so I’ve already seen a lot of the forwards, chain letters, and viral videos people have come up with — often more than once. But people out there still manage to surprise me. What on earth possessed someone, for example, to do this? We may never know — and it’s probably better we don’t. (Make sure you watch the whole thing. :)