Monday, April 16, 2007
Amanda and Jeff: More Foreplay
I'm sorry to bring up the sublime Amanda again, but this cannot go unremarked. The magnificent Marcotte wrote in her Pandagon blog that the Independent is a 'right-wing rag'. Quite politely, Tim Worstall pointed out the error. At this point Amanda had two rational options: do nothing or apologise. But Amanda is not rational. She decided the Worstall post was yet further evidence of the conspiracy of rightist 'wingnuts' against paleo-feminist truth-tellers like Amanda. She struck back with a truly wonderful post. The ensuing comments are a delight, Amanda's rapidly detaching themselves from all contact with reasoned discourse. 'What puzzles me,' she writes at one point, 'is the dwelling on something that has no value for even humor, such as the depth of my knowledge on British newspapers.' Jeffrey must raise his game to compete with this stuff. Oh, he has. In this gem, he seems to be identifying with the authentic hero, as defined by Theodore Roosevelt. I've said it before and I'll say it again, these two really must get together; their elegant mating displays have gone on long enough.
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A blog about, among other things, imaginary ideas - What ifs? and Imagine thats. What if photographs looked nothing like what we see with our eyes? Imagine that the Berlin Wall had never come down. What if we were the punchline of an interminable joke? All contributions welcome.
The independent is an odd little bird, which tends to fly on both wings. But could never be described as a Condor, at times an Albatross. Something of a joy in its writing, with little re-jigging required to extract meaning. The FT has similar dexterity.
ReplyDeleteWhile, that 'dagon blog is humourless, aimed at those with the same problem. They are the only exception to the rule about making fun of the afflicted.
What is it with the BBC and bees.
Do you mean 'get together' in the Biblical sense (I'm not sure Amanda is sufficiently fragrant for Jeff's high standards), or do you you mean 'get together' in a joint blogging venture to create The Archercotte Files, which would surely be The Greatest Website in the World Ever.
ReplyDeleteJeffcotte. Archanda? No, Brit, I did mean biblical.
ReplyDeleteOnly the other night I was on the phone with Jeffrey and he began reciting the following speech from Spartacus to the gladiators at Capua, in fine oratorial fasion:
ReplyDeleteYe call me chief; and ye do well to call him chief who for twelve long years has met upon the arena every shape of man or beast the broad Empire of Rome could furnish, and who never yet lowered his arm. If there be one among you who can say that ever, in public fight or private brawl, my actions did belie my tongue, let him stand forth and say it. If there be three in all your company dare face me on the bloody sands, let them come on. And yet I was not always thus,--a hired butcher, a savage chief of still more savage men. My ancestors came from old Sparta, and settled among the vine-clad rocks and citron groves of Syrasella. My early life ran quiet as the brooks by which I sported; and when, at noon, I gathered the sheep beneath the shade, and played upon the shepherd's flute, there was a friend, the son of a neighbor, to join me in the pastime. We led our flocks to the same pasture, and partook together our rustic meal. One evening, after the sheep were folded, and we were all seated beneath the myrtle which shaded our cottage, my grandsire, an old man, was telling of Marathon and Leuctra; and how, in ancient times, a little band of Spartans, in a defile of the mountains, had withstood a whole army. I did not then know what war was; but my cheeks burned, I know not why, and I clasped the knees of that venerable man, until my mother, parting the hair from off my forehead, kissed my throbbing temples, and bade me go to rest, and think no more of those old tales and savage wars. That very night the Romans landed on our coast. I saw the breast that had nourished me trampled by the hoof of the war-horse,--the bleeding body of my father flung amidst the blazing rafters of our dwelling! To-day I killed a man in the arena; and, when I broke his helmet-clasps, behold! he was my friend. He knew me, smiled faintly, gasped, and died;--the same sweet smile upon his lips that I had marked, when, in adventurous boyhood, we scaled the lofty cliff to pluck the first ripe grapes, and bear them home in childish triumph! I told the prætor that the dead man had been my friend, generous and brave; and I begged that I might bear away the body, to burn it on a funeral pile, and mourn over its ashes. Ay! upon my knees, amid the dust and blood of the arena, I begged that poor boon, while all the assembled maids and matrons, and the holy virgins they call Vestals, and the rabble, shouted in derision, deeming it rare sport, forsooth, to see Rome's fiercest gladiator turn pale and tremble at the sight of that piece of bleeding clay! And the prætor drew back as I were pollution, and sternly said, "Let the carrion rot; there are no noble men but Romans." And so, fellow-gladiators, must you, and so must I, die like dogs. O Rome! Rome! thou hast been a tender nurse to me. Ay! thou hast given to that poor, gentle, timid shepherd lad, who never knew a harsher tone than a flute-note, muscles of iron and a heart of flint; taught him to drive the sword through plaited mail and links of rugged brass, and warm it in the marrow of his foe;--to gaze into the glaring eyeballs of the fierce Numidian lion, even as a boy upon a laughing girl! And he shall pay thee back, until the yellow Tiber is red as frothing wine, and in its deepest ooze thy life-blood lies curdled! Ye stand her now like giants, as ye are! The strength of brass is in your toughened sinews, but to-morrow some Roman Adonis, breathing sweet perfume from his curly locks, shall with his lily fingers pat your red brawn, and bet his sesterces upon your blood. Hark! hear ye yon lion roaring in his den? 'Tis three days since he has tasted flesh; but to-morrow he shall break his fast upon yours,--and a dainty meal for him ye will be! If ye are beasts, then stand here like fat oxen, waiting for the butcher's knife! If ye are men, follow me! Strike down yon guard, gain the mountain passes, and there do bloody work, as did your sires at old Thermopylæ! Is Sparta dead? Is the old Grecian spirit frozen in your veins, that you do crouch and cower like a belabored hound beneath his master's lash? O comrades! warriors! Thracians! if we must fight, let us fight for ourselves! If we must slaughter, let us slaughter our oppressors! If we must die, let it be under the clear sky, by the bright waters, in noble, honorable battle!
Bryan, that idea of Amanda and Jeffrey. Quite vile. Please, I've got to go and scrub my brainpan.
ReplyDeleteHe got caught and did his time. How could you want to punish him further so?
I'm not sure if I should say this, but I think Jeffrey has been hatching a very wild and audacious plan, of which this Roosevelt and Spartacus stuff are mere leakages. It involves gathering an army of ex-cons and marching on Rome, where he will be declared Holy Roman Emperor by the Pope, with whose church he has recently cemented very strong ties. Across Europe, prisons will be stormed, and then its on to Brussells and the overthrow of the European Union. If all goes well he hopes to be able to fly out in time for the World Cup Cricket Final in the Windies.
ReplyDeleteI was able to guess the general nature of the plan, and I genuinely fear for his mind, for when I suggested this was all a bit mental, he simply said, "In the beginning was the Word. And the Word was with God, and the Word was God." From his Buried Treasure post one can detect the hints that following on from his Judas Gospel, he has in his hands unrevealed Shakespeare masterpieces... This will all come to no good.
It has come to my attention that Archer plans to make Bryan Appleyard Viceroy of Ireland, with Bertie Aherne reduced to the role of Edwina Currie's Chief Eunuch. Appleyard has recently visited Dublin where he was involved in secret discussions with the Jesuits regarding the future Archerian Utopia. "Utopia for the few, dystopia for the many", chuckled Appleyard.
ReplyDeleteAmanda certainly achieves something in her blog although it isn't literacy. Her most recent entry having to do with mermaids or something is truly a work of art. You have to love a writer who can make no sense whatsoever AND squeeze the word "paradigm" into their writing.
ReplyDeleteI would fear for any child born to Jeff and Amanda. The inherited ego would probably turn into a black hole and suck the planet into it.
Oh I see another right-wingnut nut as in you is trying to do with words what ideas couldn't ie make me look wrong just because I might be a little bit but not in the big picture which as usual you and yours fail to see as in the wood from the trees, especially if the trees are in any way devoid of comedic value which they are. Which is ironic especially as the right-wing newspapers you write for(but not "right for") are made from these same trees. But go ahead, be my guest and wrap yourself up in semantic circles of delirium while the rest of us get on with trying to make this world a better world for our children.
ReplyDeleteOh my God, she's almost as bad as Julie Bindel.
ReplyDeleteI have no knowledge as to who Julie Bindel is but if she is anything like me I have the highest respect for her and what she does unless for some reason I don't, which I doubt.
ReplyDeleteIf I was a lot younger and liked the color yellow more, I would ask Amanda to marry me!
ReplyDeleteYou would have to be a very brilliant person in the using word bits imagination and clear thinking for me to spend the future life days with you Tom. I like to be bouncing ideas off people to see what happens when they bounce back so you'd have to be receptive to the bouncing.
ReplyDelete'(I)s the dwelling on something that has no value for even humor, such as the depth of my knowledge on British newspapers.'
ReplyDeleteNo disrespect intended to computer programmers, but the above had to have come from a random-word generator in its early stages.
Tedd
Thats if you dont mind me(a woman if thats not too much to handle) saying it but thats very unpolitically correct Tedd. American English is English language progress and WAS devised by computer programmed word- generators. And I hope your not saying your against Progress. Which is to deny Darwin and to be a wingnut Creationist against rationality which is it.
ReplyDeleteOh dear Amanda, there is no question that you deserve much better than me (although I like bouncing as much as the next person) but I would still ask.
ReplyDeleteI am so busy with other important things that are very important and I forgot to check back here Ton to see if you responded. And well its too early to tell but I thought it wasn't bad how you bounced the words back that time so that's a maybe.
ReplyDelete