perfidy

The BBC has a story about a production of Big Willie's Troilus and Cressida that is being done in close-to-authentic Tudor English. That's kind of cool: the wordplay makes more sense, the meter probably scans better, and rhymes and puns actually work. The Beeb has a clip of one of the actors reading the same passage in modern English and then in mock Tudor, and the difference is pretty profound. They claim that the dialect is closest to the way some North Carolinans talk today, and although I don't hear it all the way (most folks from the Ashtray State have less of a brogue and straitch aut theyah vowahls more), the similarities are there. I more hear Newfoundland than North Ashtray, but that's just me. Either way it's cool, and the name Ajax becomes a potty joke.

Alright, everybody on the floor. I'm hijacking this blog and flying it to Cuba!

Can't get enough of that Harry Potter? Me neither! The Guardian this week sponsored a contest for readers to re-write a certain crucial scene from the most recent Harry Potter book in the styles of other famous authors. The two winners I can identify are damned hoots!

Chaucer

"At Hogwarte's, schoole of wizardrye,
Unfoldeth drede folle tragedie!
Yonge Ron Weasleye, and classmayt Pottyr:
Fallen preye to 'tvyle rottyr,
Who, throughoute Harry's sadde lyfe,
Hath been the source of muche stryfe;
Hys parente's lyves, rendyred shorte,
By naughtie manne: Voldemorte!

Pottyr and freynd, in't towyr trapp'd,
At mercie of thyss eevil ratte!
What woe! What payn! Unluckiness!
To looke upon poor boye's dystresse.
"Fore all thysse tyme, my plans you've foyled,
Designs divertyd, and schemes despoyled!"
So began the Dark Lorde's awfolle gloatyng,
And standarde badde guy showéboatynge,
"But not todaye, you little shytte!
Payn's true meanynge, thou shalt wytte!"

And then it sort of goes on from there in the same vein and the whole thing is pretty brilliant. As is, by the way, the Irvine Welsh:

The sweat wis lashing oafay Ron; he wis tremblin. Ah wis jist sitting in the Gryffindor Common Room, focusing on ma new Choaclit Frog jizz mag, tryin no tae notice the cunt. He wis bringing me doon. Ah tried to keep ma attention oan Wendolin the Weird, who wis takin oaf her bikini toap.

- Potts. Ah've goat tae see the Professor, the boy Weasley gasped, shaking his heid.

Ah wanted the radge tae jist fuck oaf ootay ma specs, tae go oan his ain and jist leave us wi wee Wendolin. Oan the ither hand, ah'd be needin a Cheerin Charm n aw before long, n if that cunt went n scored he'd haud oot oan us, the sick basturt.

Doonin the Great Hall, some a they shitey wee Slytherins were hingin aboot.

- Square go, then, speccy cunt! C'moan ya crappin basturts! one ay thum shouted.

- Fuck oaf, ya plukey-faced wee pureblood! Ron snarled as we piled up the spiral staircase wi the wee Slytherin cunts flinging hexes eftir us.

Ah wisnae chuffed at Ron. - Fuckssake, ya fuckin radge. That wis wee Draco - he hings aboot wi they Death Eatin casuals frae Hogsmeade, ah sais

- Harry, the ginger fucker snaps, clenchin his wand tightly - ah want tae see the Professor n ah dinnae give a fuck aboot any cunt or anything else. Goat that?

'The Professor' wis Albus Dumbledore, a teacher whae supplied the Hogwarts scheme. Ah preferred tae score ma tricks fi Albie or his sidekick McGonagall rather than Snape and the Slytherin mob. Better gear, usually.

Pure gold, thanks to the beautiful and talented Gary Farber.

After the fold, some of my overheated fanboy theorizationings about the outcome of the new Harry Potter book. DO NOT, I repeat, DO NOT click unless you have either read the book or are quite comfortable not caring about knowing important information that could ruin future reading experiences.

Feel free to use the comments as an open Harry Potter thread, with spoilers.
Okay. So we know that Snape killed Dumbledore. But why? And if Snape hates Harry so much, and is such a badass evil guy, why was he intent on not allowing Harry (or Malfoy) to cast any of the Unforgiveable Curses?

I'll tell you: Snape already made an Unbreakable Promise to Dumbledore that he'd do whatever was necessary to keep Harry alive to thwart Voldemort. That's why Hagrid overheard Dumbledore pleading with Snape in the woods. Snape didn't have the upper hand on old Albus, Dumbledore was reminding Snape of the paramount importance of Harry surviving and his remaining a double agent. You think when Snape and Big D were having their showdown on the rooftop that they weren't mind-reading each other like crazy? Snape isn't evil; he's just a really good spy. Moreover, his killing Dumbledore accomplished other ends: it kept Malfoy from taking a life, which would be a very bad thing; it kept Dumbedore from dying more painfully at the hands of a werewolf; it got the Death Eaters out of the castle promptly with a sense of accomplishment, thereby minimizing casualties among the students and other defenders; and now, do you really think anybody is going to question Snape's devotion to Voldemort's cause?

As for the horcrux thingy. Here's my theory: Voldemort was killing Lily Potter to make his seventh horcrux. The spell went wrong and... Harry is a horcrux. It explains his parselmouth ability, his affinity for the wand, part of why Professor Quirrell couldn't touch Harry in book 1, why Harry could read Voldemort's mind... Voldemort doesn't know this, and probably assumes that he only has the six to work with.

The death of Lily Potter also may partly explain why Snape is on the good side (assuming I'm correct about the above). Dollars to donuts that Snape was in love with Lily before James came along and always carried a torch for her. Her death may have marked Snape's apostasy from the Death Eaters. This may also help explain why Snape, who clearly hates Harry, has sucked it up and agreed to try to help him so much over the years.

As for the "missing" horcrux that is the Slytherin amulet... 1) We believe it was in the Black family treasure at one time. Certainly, "RAB" could stand for Romulus Black, Sirius' brother and a Death Eater summarily killed for treason by Voldemort. Is he... really... dead?? 2) There was a mention in either book 5 or 6 of Kreacher having a hoard of Black family stuff, coins and baubles, and wasn't there an amulet/locket thing in that stash? If, say, Romulus hid the horcrux amulet at Grimmauld Place? 3) Why else to have Mundungus Fletcher show up with a bag full of looted items from Grimmauld Place toward the end of Half-Blood Prince, unless he accidentally got ahold of something verrrry important, like say, the missing horcrux??

And doesn't the foregoing mean that Harry has to die for Voldemort to die?

Finallly... how much does J.K. Rowling kick ass for tying together plot points from as far back as Book II and making them crucial parts of the puzzle? That takes some serious author-mojo.

[wik] Also, check out the very long comment thread on my blogcritics posting of my Harry Potter review for more fan theories. Turns out I did manage to get up one of the first reviews in North America, and blogcritics' server proved more resilient than other fansites, which means that my review turned into a fan forum. Cool.

James Doohan is dead at the ripe old age of 85. We of course all know him as "Scotty" from Star Trek, but did you also know that he lost a middle finger storming the beach on D-Day? Wonder how that happened.

I tell you now something which could endanger my life, should the wrong entities take umbrage. Fans of James Doohan and his work; rest easy. He'll be back. Thanks to his co-status as war hero and science fiction screen actor, his name is near the top of a very select list of personages who, upon decease, will find the standing quantum probability waves that define their being transplanted into one of several models of giant space robot. Doohan is not slated to be a fighting space robot; he is to be one of the ambassadors. And as such, he is both more dangerous, and to be more trusted, than his fighting counterparts. Perhaps we can turn him. Perhaps the heart of old Scotty could still beat (metaphorically speaking) inside the titanium-alloy shell that will soon house his essence. Perhaps he could be made to fight on the side of... humans?... in the war that is to come.

Or should I just lay off for a while from eating the stuff in my fridge that's growing blue-green fuzz?

Even though we Ministers might seem infinite founts of supreme wit, our creative process is not as effortless as mortals might be tempted to believe.

The Ministry of Minor Perfidy maintains a Conception Center, a clearinghouse for ideas, punchlines, titles, drafts, and other content thoroughly wrung from our stable of Muses. And I mean thoroughly- we enslave only the most determined imps to wrestle the Muses into The Idea Crank, and only the most robust to turn it.

My personal Muse left me awhile ago. She was fed-up with my deserted imagination, and fled for more…fertile surroundings. She’s making Muse-porn now, but sometimes she crashes on my couch, after I don’t see her for a few weeks and she’s had an especially hard night in the city. She tells me it’s purely for utility, what with my proximity to the sets she works. On those nights I like to pretend we still live together. I make pancakes in the morning, but she’s either already gone or still too hungover to eat. But
it's fun to pretend, and almost fulfilling...

I’ve probably said too much. Moving on.

Before we even get to throw the Muses through the wringer, we oftentimes communicate with each other for direction, opinions on whether something’s viable, funny, stupid, or disgusting enough to post.

I went through some old diplomatic pouches that I found when I moved- they were all under the couch-where I found snippets of forgotten correspondence, and pieced together enough to share. That is, the ones that were legible through the stains of blood and taco sauce, or in code for which I still remembered the key. None of this was ever posted.

Herewith, then, a glimpse into the behind-the-scenes world of inter-Minister dialog:

“Not that you necessarily should have been doing anything you wanted to even when you could. But the option is closed off. Unless you're willing to be a complete prick. Which I'm not.”

“Your line about a ‘cereal’ killer is the punchline to a joke about a dead whore found with a banana in her ass.”

“I would never hope for happiness- I think that's setting the bar a tad high, given past experience and current conditions. But contentment- THAT might be reachable.”

“It is a nice feeling when I pick up something heavy, I feel muscle and not just pain in my arm fat.”

“But I'll need some help because as far as I'm concerned a shrew, a mouse and a hamster are essentially the same creature.”

“I saw a radiation trefoil/bomb shelter sign on the corner of the building, so I assume that there is something in the basement. Whether it is an active zombie shelter or not, I don't know.”

“I almost got the cadaver collector job.”

“…except that nobody seems to like Massachusetts for some reason. Maybe because we're all assholes.”

“Oh, and the billboard on 95 that screamingly advertised a tacky trifecta: “FIREWORKS! CIGARETTES! HAM!’ "

“How does it feel to have looked Death in the eye, and having Him blink? Ummm... knowing that he might be waiting for you at the next crosswalk, of course, and needn't have bothered with inflicting a palsy on you.”

“You may not be Iron man, but you are at least ravioli man. Not so low as noodle man.”

"Get... The Fake Menstruum!"

“But albino crabs sound like alfredo crabs, which sound my-t-tasty, and not half as threatening once boiled.”

“I feel like maybe we're a band...like a band that has alot of talent and energy but no one to help us make the big album and go on the big tour. Except we're not about $$ and chicks and sweaty Jack Daniels t-shirts. Um, right...?”

“Anything interesting, creative, or amazing I do in the entire year will happen between September and March.”

“Music, tapes, and apocalypse. And shit, Isaac Hayes ruled the city- not only musical, but funky too. A-Number-1.”

“Yeeeeahhhh....I grant you that the head/lap interface is historically a superior method of getting what you want. I thought there might be a better way than me having to do it though. You know, like a raffle or bingo or something.”

Ebonics, recognized as a distinct language by Oakland officials in the '90s, is getting new life in San Bernardino. Educators there are recommending that Ebonics be present in its schools' curricula.

District officials are aiming down two paths: one includes Ebonics in supplemental reading guides; the other treats Ebonics speakers as ESL students. The attitude is that either can only improve those students' academic showing. Judging by the stats in the article, it certainly can't do worse for them.

Not quite willing to roll up my sleeves and wade into a thick, charged discussion of the racial politics and societal chasms afoot in a decision like that, I'd rather go to Gizoogle and imagine the Norton Anthology for OGs. Will Gizoogle continue to be for funnies, or get a new career a serious study guide?

"The bustin' of tha third day dawned fizzle n fresh...Ho, ho! fizzy all yo furthest bounds, pizzy ye now in, ye bold billows of mah whole foregone life, n top this one piled comba of mah death n shit! Towards thee I rizzoll, tizzle pimpin' but unconquer'n whale; ta tha last I grapple wit thee; frizzom hell's heart I stab at thee; fo` hate's sakes I spiznit mah last breath at thee if you gots a paper stack. Sizzay all coffins n all hearses ta one common pool! n since neitha can be mine, let me thizzay tow ta pieces, while stizzill chas'n thee, though tied ta thee, thou damned whale so you betta run and grab yo glock! Thizzay I give up tha spear!"

And while we're at it:

To be, or not ta be- that is tha question:
Whetha 'tis nobla in tha mind ta motherfucka
The chillin' n arrows of outrageous fortune
Or ta takes arms against a sea of troubles,
And by mackin' end tizzle. To die- ta sleep-
No more; n by a sleep ta say we end
The heartache, n tha thousand natural shocks
Tizzle flesh is heir to. 'Tis a consummizzles
Devoutly ta be wish'd. To dizzy ta sleep.
To sleep- perchance ta dream: ay, there's tha rub!
For in tizzy sleep of death whiznat dreams may come
Wizzy we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Mizzay give us pause. There's tha respect
That makes calamity of so long life.
For who would bear tha whips n scorns of time,
Th' oppressor's wrong, tha proud man's contumizzles
The pangs of despis'd love, tha law's delay,
The insolence of office, n tha spurns
That patient merit of th' unworthy takes,
Wizzle he himself might his quietus makes
Wit a bizzle bodkin? Who would these fardels bear,
To grunt n sweat bitch a weary life,
But thizzat tha dread of sum-m sum-m afta death-
The undiscova'd country, from whose bourn
No brotha returns- puzzles tha wizzill,
And makes us ratha bear those ills we have
Than fly ta otha thizzat we know not of?
Thus conscience does makes cowards of us all,
And thus tha native hue of resolizzles
Is sicklied o'er wit tha pale cast of thought,
And enterprises of bootylicious pizzy n moment
Wit this regard they currents turn awry
And lose tha nizzle of action.- Siznoft you now!
The fair Ophelia!- Nymph, in thy orisons
Be all mah sins rememb'red.

Couple interesting developments in the space world today.

China announced that in October, they will attempt to send a second taikonaut into orbit. It's been nearly two years since they first sent a man into space, which indicates either a fair amount of caution, or limited capability. Either situation would suggest that their stated goals of orbiting a space station and sending an unmanned probe to the moon are rather ambitious.

Back in the states, the true hope for an actual space program is with private enterprise. The first X-Prize cup will take place in early October in New Mexico, where private space firms will put on a show and tell for the faithful. Although organizers hope that someday soon this event will entail actual space launch competitions, at least for now it remains relatively ground-bound. Highlights of the show will likely be Armadillo Aerospace's test flight of a scale version of its VTOL spacecraft, built just for the show; and XCOR's rocket plane. Armadillo's vehicle will take off, hover, and then land again; but may do more if the company gets an FAA waiver. XCOR's EZ-Rocket plane will conduct a series of flights, demonstrating its capability for rapid turnaround.

Within the next couple years, several of these startup space companies will be attempting their own sub-orbital flights on the lines of Rutan's flights last year. And off in the distance, there is the $50 million America's Space Prize sponsored by Robert Bigelow. That cash goes to the first team to send five passengers 400km up, orbit the earth twice at that altitude, return them safely to Earth, and then do it again within 60 days; all before January 10, 2010. Besides the cash, the winner will receive contracts to service the inflatable habitats that Bigelow Aerospace is currently developing. If you haven't already started, you better get off your ass, as you've only got a half a decade left.

Any review of the latest installment in the Harry Potter series, Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, really needs to answer only one question: is it good… enough? Author J.K. Rowling has built up enough of a following with her previous five books that it is a fair bet that anything short of a total disaster will sell millions of copies over the next few weeks, and fans that stayed put through the bloated (but thrilling!) 870 pages of Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix will surely flock to give Half-Blood Prince a chance.

I was lucky enough to get my copy the minute (well, almost) it was available, and read it in a marathon speed-reading session that now culminates in the review you are reading. I suppose all those all-nighters I pulled back in college are finally paying off in the real world (unlike, I may add, my actual degree). For the sake of you who have not yet turned the last page, I will refrain from any major plot spoilers. Readers who wish to remain utterly ignorant of everything, however inconsequential or cryptic, should read the book instead. I will only say this: Horcruxes.

So: Is it good enough?

Oh. My. God.

Each volume in the Harry Potter series has grown progressively darker as the final showdown between Harry and Voldemort draws nearer, and Rowling does little to reverse that trend in the new book. In fact, she ups the ante considerably. As much as I hate to draw pat connections like this, Rowling's treatment of the war between Voldemort and his Death Eaters and the rest of the wizarding world is unavoidably coming to resemble, yes, the War on Terror™: people die in random attacks; the Ministry of Magic releases useless pamphlets about protecting yourself against hexes; and people engage in endless discussions about whether they know anyone in the obit section today. But whatever I say, you’re still not going to believe me on this point until you read the book for yourself.

What's striking is that Rowling handles these points of comparison admirably well, raising doubt as to whether the parallels were intentional or whether it's just hard these days to read a novel about an evil cabal set loose on society without coming to those conclusions. Either way, what was once a wondrous world full of Fizzing Whizbees and cutesy pointed hats has become a dark and treacherous place where murderers hide in plain sight and bad things happen to innocent people. Whereas Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban’s dementors occasionally cast a shadow over the story, and Books 4 and 5 regularly featured acts of cruelty, now that same pall hangs over the whole novel. That's not to say that Half-Blood Prince is an unrelenting slog from bloodsoaked battle to bloodsoaked battle, but the hints of peril that have been growing since Book 2 now fully dominate the scenery.

This change has happened organically as Rowling's protagonists have grown from naive 11-year-olds to teenagers wrestling with maturity, responsibility, and hormones. Many critics (notably Slate’s Chris Suellentrop) have complained that in past volumes Harry has gotten away with murder (figuratively speaking), making him less a sympathetic character than an overprivileged brat. But now cheating in class and sneaking around at night are no longer larks, and the burdens that Rowling gives Harry to shoulder more than make up for his special treatment. In Half Blood Prince, actions now have real consequences.

Now that the main characters are fully adolescent (16 years old in this volume), the interpersonal relationships have become much thornier than they were in past novels; gone are the halcyon days of butterbeer and wizard chess. Even more than in Book 5, Rowling spends a great deal of Half-Blood Prince deepening the relationships between Harry and those around him: Hermione, Ron and Ginny Weasly, Hagrid, Snape, Malfoy, Dumbledore, and others. There are still plenty of cute touches and light moments, but even they have other sides to them: Professor Trelawney, outraged that she must share teaching duties with a centaur, has taken to raiding the kitchen's sherry stock; The Weasley twins have opened their joke shop, but some of their products aren't necessarily all that funny sometimes.

Although the nominal plot of the book concerns Harry's search for the "half-blood prince," the real action takes place in two arenas. The first is Harry's growing awareness of his part in the fight against Voldemort, and his struggles with the reality that he must be on guard at all times. This leads him to make decisions that sometimes hurt his closest friends and allies, and ultimately decides the course of the plot. Second, someone at Hogwarts wants someone else dead, but nobody knows who.

The major themes of this story are duty, obligation, and loyalty. The very first chapter upsets what we think we know about some major players and the side they are one, and throughout the book loyalties are tested and alliances formed, all against the backdrop of Voldemort's growing power and the swelling ranks of the Death Eaters. The second half of the book gives Rowling an opportunity to show off the depth of the world she has created, as characters that started out as cute little cutouts now share in pain, elation, rage, grief, and shame. If this series ever was really for children, it has now grown into fully realized and emotionally complicated material suitable for adolescents not much younger than the characters themselves.

At nearly 300 pages shorter than the just-previous release, Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, Half-Blood Prince is tighter, and its impact more profound, than the last two books. However, Rowling could still use an editor to clean up some of her messier sentences and paragraphs. Since this installment turns more on inner struggles and subtle (though frantic) infighting than the past volumes, some of the talkier parts do lose focus somewhat. Rowling still has not managed to make everything pull together fully within the bounds of the single installment, leaving some plot threads (as well as characters like Remus Lupin and Tonks) to hover around the margins too long. But these are forgiveable sins, considering that Rowling has finally managed to hang her rapidly growing tale on a few key unifying themes. Everything that has happened from Books 1 through 5 has been tied in to the main plot and the entire train is picking up speed. By the end of Half-Blood Prince the story is hurtling forward from astounding revelation to astounding revelation, some of which you sort of saw coming, some of which you really, really didn't.

So, yes. Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince is good enough, and then a great deal better than that. While she still needs an editor like Ted Kennedy needs a 40-day chip, Rowling only raises the stakes in what has become one of the biggest phenomena in publishing since the invention of moveable type. She has admirably constructed a penultimate chapter that sets the table for the final showdown we've all been waiting for since the first book, and leaves the action at just the right point to have her millions of fans clamoring for the final installment.

If you have been waiting for this for months, rest assured: this is the series’ The Empire Strikes Back. The stakes are even higher and the surprises bigger than you imagine, and despite the usual problems of editing and focus, Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince delivers the goods. But... whatever happened to Grimmauld Place?

Thank you ladies and gentlemen; and now, to bed.

I was hoping in this space to offer an enthusiastic review of Ray Charles' 1984 album of country duets, Friendship, recently reissued by Sony Legacy. Certainly, with guests like George Jones, Chet Atkins, Willie Nelson, Johnny Cash and Ricky Skaggs it's almost a sure thing that I would love it.

But I can't. Unfortunately, Sony's proprietary Digital Rights Management scheme has thus far prevented me from hearing the music on the disc. These days I mainly listen to music in three places: on my computer as quiet office background listening, and more seriously on my Ipod and on my car's cd player. So far, my car stereo won't even read the disc, so no go there. The disc informs me that to play Friendship on my computer, I must first let the CD install proprietary Sony software that will monitor and limit the number of copies of any kind I can make of the music thereon. This is distateful at best (even more so if I had bought this rather than gotten a review copy), but I want to hear this record: I’ll bite. Unfortunately, my computers, work or home, won't just play the music even after installing the software; instead, rather than the little player starting up upon disc insertion, I must go into the disc's menus to find the proper .exe file to make it work. And forget about using Windows Media, Real, itunes, or other media software to play it; you must use the disc's own jukebox software only.

Similarly, to put the music on my IPod requires that I download further software, in this case ActiveX 9. I have the choice of ripping to a proprietary Sony audio format (ATRAC) or .wma. Given that Sony promises that ATRAC is "technology that compresses your music so efficiently it’s hard to detect the difference," and given that .wma's audio quality isn't so hot either, Forget all that. My ears are good enough to hear the high-level compression dulling the hi-hat cymbal in some mp3s, so it’s a cinch that “hard to detect” isn’t going to cut the fricking mustard. In fact, I have tried – and failed – to get legitimately copied .wma versions of the album’s tracks onto my Ipod. Guess what: access denied.

Since it is now clear that I have a choice between listening to Friendship on small speakers at low volume in my office while I work (which is no way to form a serious opinion) or not hearing it at all, I am going to pick a third option: chuck Friendship in the trash and make sure never to pick up one of Sony’s pathetic, insulting, crippled, DRMed jokes again.

But I'm sure that the album itself is a winner.

Over at Naked Villainy, I see that the Maximum Leader has been sorted. He is a Ravenclaw. I, however, am:

Even though I prefer black,
I'm a Gryffindor!

I am eagerly awaiting the arrival of book six of the Chronicles of Harry Potter tomorrow, obstreperous papist interference bedamned. Hopefully it will arrive early, so that I can read it while the wifey is off doing her hillbilly twangy music up in Harper's Ferry.

Which, by the way, would have been a much better location for our nation's capital than the malarial swamp they actually picked.