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English to French to English

I vaguely mentioned to a friend in an email that I was working with translations of my work. She inquired, translations of personal writing or work-related writing? It is work-related, alas (French and German user manuals) but then I wondered what this website would be like in another language. Since the chances of me learning another language while living in the US remain slim, there’s only one way to experience me in French: If I run text from this website through Google Translate (English to French), then run it back through (French to English)… well, hours of amusement:

My preferred phonetic weakness was a report/ratio about the services disease of the laughter, called the “crawfish is better medicine.”

Ok, I am a short and large housewife inhabitant in Sprawlfuck, America.

Americans, you do not want to be degraded. Thus come with the toric thrusts from Dunkin, where you can proudly speak American when you order your Dunkaccino.

Horses can still be sold with the factory of adhesive by pigs called Napoleon or with humanity killed in the slaughter-houses, but the carcass resulting from horse cannot by not attacked at the time by the exotic meat fanatics in Europe and Japan.

When I recently saw several planners of meal of thanksgiving that the Brussels sprouts include instead of French beans, I knew that Brussels sprouts were carried in balance to become next the vegetarians the last cry. Enough soon, everywhere you look at… cabbages of Brussels.

As a resistant user of MS Word which works in the hundred-paginated documents filled out of graphs, of the correspondences, the models of gauge, markers of index, and all other small bells and whistles which makes Word approximately as effective as Chevy Tahoe…

Howl of Bob right or to not never move decree. When it is assembled on its bicycle, it was to carry out us by the exercises which made it take part saying to us to turn the button of tension towards high, to the top of, to the top of and “Push! Pushed! Pushed!” It was observed much in the mirrors. When it is descended to dance, it would weave by the lines of the bicycles and the howl. Just… howl.

Posted in Miscellany.

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The Three Unwritten Laws of Pedestrian Mobility

Dear Lady in Burberry Scarf on P508 Express Train:

Humans are ruled by sequences of overlapping laws issued from institutions and authorities, such as governments, religions, community associations, employers, and parental guardians. These laws and the consequences of violations are explicitly spelled out: Kill another human, go to jail and hell. Sexually harass a co-worker, get fired and fined. Don’t help Dad clean the garage, lose allowance and incur the wrath of God.

But not all laws are written down. Society operates on a system of universal etiquettes so we don’t devolve into feces-throwing, hedonistic barbarians who enfringe on the personal liberties or comforts of our fellow man. What stops us from noisily farting in public, picking our noses and eating it, screaming into cell phones? Why do we wait in lines, cover our mouths when we sneeze, hold doors open for others, say “excuse me” and “thank you”? Because life is just nicer.

You, lady in Burberry Scarf on P508 Express Train, appear to have a firm grasp on most unwritten laws. You appear to have a job, since I see you everyday and I wouldn’t even notice you because you seem perfectly normal… except for your brazen disregard of the Laws of Pedestrian Mobility. But I can excuse you, because they’re unwritten laws, things that most of us just intuitively know and abide by. You have gone through life without getting the memo. Allow me:

Law 1: Mobility, not Motility. Motility refers to a spontaneous or random movement. Think of children playing ‘tag’… the trajectory of a plastic bag caught in the wind… the sinuosity of a drunk man’s stagger. Mobility is more predictable. Planes, cars, boats, bikes, space ships, even pedestrians all heed logic in order to ensure safety and efficiency. For example, if you are walking down a train aisle, the people behind you cannot anticipate that you will, for no apparent reason, turn around and walk into them. And they cannot yield, even if you push. Similarly, if you are walking on a crowded, narrow train platform, frantic weaving between other moving people in a ridiculous effort to hasten your journey is discouraged.

Law 2: Recognize informal queues. Generally, when a random group of people are waiting to fulfill a mobility transition, the person who is closest goes first. For example, when a train stops on a platform, the person who happens to be standing in front of the door boards the train first, followed by people who are close by. Rarely is it acceptable to squeeze through a gathered crowd to physically assert your desire to board the train. To not recognize informal queues is an endorsement of chaos.

Law 3: Merge like a zipper. When two lines of pedestrians are merging in the same direction, the “zipper” method should be employed. The pedestrians move forward one-by-one, alternating from each direction so it is always understood whose “turn” it is to proceed forward. When you don’t merge like a zipper, it hits a snag, resulting in collisions and confusion.

Three little laws, so engrained in common sense that it seems ridiculous that I actually wrote them down for you. That’s why they’re unwritten laws, dig?

Sincerely,

Pushed, Shoved, and Snagged

Posted in Existence.

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Wish Upon a Bone

Plucked from the bird’s breast,
Ready when its dried.
Seized in a wishing contest,
Steady as its pried –

And a pull, push! Twist,
SNAP. The divide of bone
Grants the winner’s wish
(if remained unknown.)

–poem by MSG, photo by Mr. Pinault

Posted in Culture.

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Movie Review: Notes on a Scandal

Notes on Notes on a Scandal: Ah! a diarist. I am inclined to instantly like those who share my proclivity to use the written word as a means of reflection. Indeed, narrator Barbara (Judi Dench) seems, at first, one of my brethren: Hard, cynical, disdainful of the “proles” that she lives among but acutely distances herself from. Yet she needs them, not for human companionship, but as fodder to fill the pages of her notebooks.

And oh, the material that Barbara culls from the new art teacher named Sheba (Cate Blanchett). Finally, a colleague who lives up to Barbara’s standards, a “kindred spirit,” even though Sheba is the opposite of Barbara: Young, beautiful, optimistic, kind, and married with children. The stage is set. Enter, the scandal…

Who doesn’t love a good scandal! Certainly Barbara isn’t complaining when she discovers Sheba’s secret. She knowingly blackmails Sheba into becoming a close friend, but seems to forget her own power as Sheba acquiesces to her overtures. And then, delusions. Psychological warfare. Lies. “Don’t you know it’s terribly rude to read someone’s diary?” Oh, yes, I love a good scandal.

Posted in Review.

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Meta Me

Blog-wise, I’ve been a low-achiever. It’s being busy at work. It’s the cold weather. It’s the dread of staring at a computer screen with no idea what to write about. It’s the lack of a niche topic. It’s the suspicion that I’m posting to an audience of porn-seeking Googlers and Yahoos. It’s the necessity to write things too personal to tell the world. It’s living in a boxy apartment in this turtle shell called Natick. It’s being too exhausted by the state of politics and society to get angry enough to rant. It’s hormones. It’s my iron-deficient diet. It’s the drop of my coffee consumption to two cups a day. It’s the monotony of the commuter rail. It’s the lack of cats, kids, a home, and a car. It’s knowing everything has already been said. It’s the fear that no one cares. It’s the fear no one understands. It’s that so much of life happens in my dreams, and it is all as incomprehensible as crayon soup.

Posted in Miscellany.

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Lion Hearted

A 65-year old Californian woman is credited with saving her husband’s life from a mauling mountain lion. The couple was hiking when she heard her husband utter a “different, horrible plea for help”, and turned around to see the mountain lion wrestling him to the ground. She fought by beating it with a log and poking its eyes with a pen until the lion released the husband and fled.

Wow. I wonder how I would react if Mr. Pinault and I were hiking and a mountain lion attacked him. Would I muster the selfless fortitude to repel the lion? Or would I take my revenge for the time he taunted me for being scared of a snake: “Come on, what’s to be afraid of? It’s just a little mountain lion! Stop screaming, you’re causing a scene!”

Posted in In the News.

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Hungry for a Horse

A US federal court upheld a 1949 Texas law that bans the slaughter of horses for meat. Horses can still be sold to the glue factory by pigs named Napoleon or humanely killed in slaughterhouses, but the resulting horse carcass cannot by preyed upon by exotic meat fanatics in Europe and Japan. Instead, the horses will be buried in graveyards and given 3-volley salutes.

A deciding judge poignantly pointed out, “The lone cowboy riding his horse on a Texas trail is a cinematic icon. Not once in memory did the cowboy eat his horse.” Well, of course not in the movies. How terrifying would it be if Roy Rogers suddenly whipped up some Trigger kebobs?

But in reality, a starving cowboy stranded in the tumbleweed with a dead horse would surely be tempted to grill an equine steak (apparently, horse meat has a slightly sweet taste, like a combination of beef and venison.) To evoke cinematic ideals in deciding court cases is primitive. Like, “We never see people in the movies using the bathroom. Therefore, companies don’t have to allow their employees to take bathroom breaks.”

Though Texas judges should be applauded for their convictions about slaughtering horses for meat, do not overlook their mindless zeal in slaughtering humans for justice! Vengeance stew is a dish that’s both un-American and high in cholesterol.

Posted in In the News.

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Microsoft Ingenuity

I thought I’d seen every error message that Microsoft Word was programmed to throw at me. As a heavy-duty MS Word user who works in hundred-paged documents replete with graphics, cross-references, template styles, index markers, and all the other little bells and whistles that makes Word about as efficient as a Chevy Tahoe, I’ve spent a large percentage of my life clicking through error and warning dialog boxes as application struggles to cope with my megalith manuals.

So today, when updating the template of a 148-paged document caused MS Word to hang, I was stunned when the following message appeared:

Apparently, MS Word failed in a new and spectacular way that I’ve never seen before, but how endearing. It admits ‘hey, I’m really fucking this shit up,’ and understands that I’m staring at the screen in eager anticipation. Yet instead of coming out and saying MS Word crashed, it makes the termination of the program and loss of my unsaved changes entirely the fault of me and my impatience. It’s a brilliant dialog box, really.

Posted in Americana.

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Cold Called

Ring ring! Ring ring! I pick my office phone: “This is Meredith.”

“Good morning! How are you today!” a woman’s voice tidily booms.

I loath responding to this question until I know who the caller is (Are you asking me for money? Offering me money? Telling me my identity’s been stolen?) but I tersely say “Fine.”

“Wonderful! My name is L____ N____, and I’m calling from S_____P____. We’re a Boston-based group of seasoned consultants that specializes in producing technical, product, and software documentation.”

That’s odd. That’s what I do, too. “How can I help you?”

“Well Meredith, I’m told that you’re the person to talk to regarding the documentation needs of [my company]. Is this correct, and do you have a few minutes to answer some questions?”

“Yeah, sure.”

Sales Lady: “How would you rate the quality and accuracy of [my company’s] documentation?”

Me: “Well… it’s pretty good.” (Considering I’m devoting my life to it.)

Sales Lady: “Okay, that’s good to hear. Has [my company] seen an increase in the need for documentation in the past year?”

Me: “Maybe.” (Is documentation ever a need?)

Sales Lady: “Would [my company] be interested in outsourcing your documentation projects to a company with a proven track record for success?”

Me: “No, we’re all set.”

Hmm. It’s so rare that a person is directly asked if they would like their job to be outsourced. Maybe teams of 50 writers at big fancy company with stuffed budgets could get away with outsourcing some of their doc work, but I’m a lone wolf, loping madly out of the cross-hairs. It’s too late, though, she unleashes her sales pitch: Slicker than Teflon, she extols the virtues of her company knowing that at any second I could hang up. “Reliable” “professional” “cost effective”… the adjectives fly fast and furious.

Me: “I’m sorry, I’m just not interested.”

Sales Lady: “OK. I’ll tell you what, if I could get your mailing address so I can send out some brochures about our services -”

Me: “No, it’s okay. I’m sorry to be rude, but we get a lot of sales calls. I’d appreciate if you take [my company] off your list.”

Sales Lady: “Perhaps there is someone else at at your company who would be interested in our services -”

Me (sneering): “Nobody here’s interested in your services. Good day.” Click.

Posted in The 9 to 5.

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Unpardonable!

After the timely passing and berserk canonization of Gerald Ford, GWB issued the customary proclamation directing that the US flag be displayed at half-staff for 30 days – until this Friday. While most flags currently remain in the proper mourning position, I have noticed a few Old Glories fluttering at the top of the flagpole.

I urge my fellow citizens to be vigilant about any flag transgressions that they should witness during the tail end of our Executive-ordered period of grief. Whether the offender be a highway toll station, a Red Roof Inn, or a private citizen with a flagpole in their yard, it is your civic duty to confront such sedition and demand the flag be lowered. A full-mast flag is an effrontery not only to Gerald Ford, the man who “healed our nation” by refusing to hold the highest elected official accountable for his high crimes and misdemeanors, but to any American who has lived a long, full life and died of natural causes.

Posted in Americana, In the News.

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