Today was a real clowning around day at the Somenotions office. We had a giggle by taking a section of Clinomania to an internet translation site, translating it into Dutch, and then translating the Dutch back into English. Here's what came out:
Some monkeys will be played by good old-fashioned live action monkeys. Also a bunch of monkeys will be. In fact, this way many will be, that the title "apes" misleading will prove. A more precise but less spicy title Non-Human primacies and angels would be. Anyways, some monkeys with marionettes rather than real monkeys are represented. Really fear boosting marionettes, also. Monsters. Your young young she-goats will have nightmares. They'll gleaming red faces which sneer in dreadful have are drawn and their eyes only one beetje will totter. Only small wobbly beetje. The monkeys valid war of the world II planes fly, and reasons which never in the film will become explained, they both ash and the planes of the ally will fly, although they fight together against the angels. The angels won't have planes. I hope that you could present that from, Einstein. The angels have wings. The monkeys VROOOOOOOOM swoop around the angels in zero of Mitsubishi and material, all originating ACKACKACKACKACKACKACKACKACKACK machine guns at the angels, and the angels are all as between twelve and hundred feet long and have mainly reuze flaming swords and sometimes the plak ape's vleugelrecht gone, and they decrease in this smoking tailspin and sometimes nail the one of the monkeys exactly angel by their harten with a good placed hail of balls exactly by their harten, and angels' only all keep the wings that, to they THUD discharge in the ground omhoog to drag on beating and they descend decreasing with their robes. It sounds corny on document, but there's a large sad scene of the aftermath of a battle, and you hear Laurie Anderson's "Pieces and Parts" (I weet the corny sound, but it! ontzagwekkend) (I'm that intros, duh to have been spoken, not do not play stomme I'm.) and it's that in a sweet manner goes its. Who wins? I assume you'll only must go try my be possible come movie, monkeys and angels!
Have any of you seen the 1930 movie version of "Moby Dick," starring John Barrymore? You would do well to do so. It mightn't surprise some of you to learn that we were great enthusiasts of this film, which combines our two favorite things, (1) old and (2) sea stuff.
*SPOILER ALERT*
In this film, Ahab (Barrymore) is a marvelous acrobat, and when ships come in to town, all the ladies turn out to see him do his acrobatics on the mast - he flings his legs around, hangs upside down, etc. Also, he has a stuffy brother named Derek. Anyway, in port, Ahab meets a funny dog, and they are friends, and the dog introduces him to the minister's daughter, who falls in love with him. But then, while at sea, his leg gets bitten off by a whale. He's sad because he can't do his acrobatics anymore, but in the end, it turns out, the girl still loves him, even though he's peglegged, and despite the fact that Derek does such a good job of pumping air into the pipe organ at the church.
Anyway, we can't wait to read the book "Moby Dick," and learn more about Derek and the funny dog!
Of course, there is a flip side to the Jack coin, and it's displayed here. No sense in mincing words; this is a sloppy post. Disorganized, chaotic. There are flickers, of course, of brilliance. Jackian turns of phrase ("beer empties," "nutbuster") and a view into a specific kind of bohemian living. But one has come to expect a certain baseline of flair in his writing, and won't easily accept the second rate, the quotidian.
The post does offer some interesting examples of Jack's gentle, avuncular, condescension: phrases like "looks cute" or "it's sweet" follow mentions of different pop culture curiosities.
But, in the end, we have to give Jack credit - he produces. Daily, or almost daily, you can count on a batch of considered opinions that express and reveal a particular character. Such stability is rare in the blogoniverse. Consider the brief candle of Vali's Views - splashy premiere, general excitement, "buzz," but of course it was unsustainable, and now sits, unupdated, like a beached whale on Nantasket Beach, suitable only to be poked and prodded from time to time by local youths. Disappointing. Ironically, considering his nature, Jack's finest attribute seems to be his constancy. Chalk that up as Jack Paradox #1012.
Will our period of semi to non employment that hovers over the near horizon spell a bounce in productivity here at Somenotions? One wonders. We had several observations we intended to share today about stupid things we saw in the New Yorker, but forget them now. The hour grows late . . .
Exquisite post today from Jack. Truly exceptional. Well-turned phrases, heartfelt sentiment logically and intelligently congealed into readable prose. Well-observed criticisms, and a degree of sensibility and balance one rarely sees in the blogoatmosphere.
What does it say, when the finest post-election commentary one reads comes from the electronic pen of a self-confessed drunkard and layabout? What does it mean for all of us, who find that of all the commentators, of all the analyzers, of all the reporters and editors and philosophizers, our own feelings are most in accord with a man whose most notable accomplishments have heretofore been consumption of liquids and vapors, bizarre feats of throat-noise, purchases of books on interior and graphic design, and the aiding and abetting of criminals into our very own home?
Indeed, consider - of all the writers presenting sum-ups of this election, only one ever allowed a thief into our home while we were innocently sleeping, and disturbed our slumber to tell us that "the code for shit" had been stolen. And yet, that is the one writer who seems to have captured the moment, who has summed up our own feelings, our own complicated loves and hates and resentments.
And this, indeed, is the central paradox of Jack. The gentleman vagabond, the vulgar prophet, the repulsive aesthete, the articulate bloviator. The courtly villain, the country buffoon who lives in the heart of the city.
And at this dark moment, he finds his finest hour. Well done, old boy. Somenotions presses on, confident that the artful sentence, the skillfully turned phrase, the insight that cuts to the heart of the matter, will last far longer than any temporal potentate.
