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August 2011 Issue

Semper Ubi Sub Ubi

readme:

OK, enough already. We get it. Suffocating heat and humidity. Constant rain. Giant mutant bugs. Tropical-sounding birds and absurdly dense vegetation that grows a foot a week. Yellow-gray air that smells like sulfur and burns your throat. Lightning flickering on the horizon at 2 am. The lights dim ominously. Don’t look now, but I think somebody broke the planet.

On the bright side, great thanks to the anonymous reader who sent me a recertified IBM/Lenovo T60 ThinkPad from Woot. Apparently Lenovo released these packages to a number of outlets; Woot sold out quickly (which is the whole point of Woot), as did Newegg, but Newegg now has them back in stock for about $225. The consensus seems to be that it’s a great deal. I love this computer.

A thing of beauty.

Back in 2006-7, the T60 was the top of the Thinkpad line, selling for $2500-$2800 new. These things are built like tanks, extremely solid and close to indestructible, sporting a magnesium roll cage protecting the innards. This particular model comes with a smallish hard drive (60 gigs) and not really enough memory (1 gig), but more memory can be had for ~$25 for 2 gigs and the HD is easily swapped out if you really need more room. It comes with Windows XP, but I cured that with Linux. It runs like a top and has a dual-core Intel processor, which makes it snapper than my desktop, which is coming up on its tenth birthday.

Interestingly, it also comes with an IBM docking station, which is very, very cool. (The docking station alone goes for $209 on Amazon.) When the computer is in the dock, you have both VGA and DVI monitor connectors, serial and parallel ports, digital sound output and all sorts of other neat things. But what I really love about the dock is that it solidly holds the computer at a slight tilt, the perfect angle for typing. It’s actually reminiscent of using a portable typewriter. Combined with the legendary ThinkPad keyboard, this is a really great machine for writing. The screen resolution is 1024 x 768, again a bit outdated, but also perfectly suited for writing. It also has a built-in 56k modem for when civilization collapses next year and a tiny little keyboard light atop the screen for when the grid goes down. And, for some strange reason, a fingerprint reader. And Bluetooth.

By the way, if you’ve never used a ThinkPad keyboard, you really don’t know how good a laptop keyboard can be. I cannot believe folks seriously use those ghastly MacBook keyboards all day. They’re like tapping on glass. ThinkPad keyboards make you want to type. (I must really like them; I use an IBM UltraNav keyboard, essentially a standalone ThinkPad keyboard, with my desktop computer.)

Oh yeah, before I forget: at the foot of each entry here you’ll see a teeny-tiny Google +1 button you can click if you have a Google account of some kind. It’s the equivalent of a Facebook “like” button but more immediately useful to me, because the number of “+1′s” a post gets shows up in the Google search rankings, and about 70% of my traffic comes from people searching for a word or phrase on Google. So, if you are so inclined….

What else. Falling Skies is over until next summer, if there still is TV next summer. I’m gonna miss it. Yeah, it’s seriously silly in many ways (e.g., How come the aliens don’t seem to have heard of aerial reconnaissance?), but it’s good, goofy fun. Still, this business of shows being off for a year (or longer, in the case of HBO) drives me a little nuts. I guess it’s back to Pawn Stars and Law & Order (Original Recipe) reruns at lunchtime for me.

Continue reading this post » » »

Camera

It’s not a “peephole.” It’s art.

Dear Word Detective: I was looking at a map of Oxford, England and found a building called the “Radcliffe Camera.” I’d never seen the word “camera” used in context with a building other than perhaps “camera obscura.” It is a library and is circular. It was built in the 1100′s. Why is such a building called a “Camera”? — Gerald Weiland.

Words can be tricky little devils. My parents took me to London when I was a wee lad, promising to show me Piccadilly Circus. I’ll bet they knew the only animals there were pigeons. Note to traffic engineers: please stop trying to introduce the “circus” (aka “roundabout” or “traffic circle”) in the US Midwest. People here don’t get it and aren’t going to. They seem to think it’s some kind of audition for NASCAR. Throw texting into the mix and it’s more like a terrifying audition for American Nitwit.

According to Wikipedia, the Radcliffe Camera was built between 1737 and 1749 to house the Radcliffe Science Library, named after John Radcliffe, the Royal Physician to William III and Mary II of England. (I said, a while back, that using the phrase “according to Wikipedia” produced in me the anxiety of a man skydiving with a parachute he bought on eBay, but this entry seems solid.) The Camera is said to be the earliest example of a circular library in England, and pictures show an ornate, and indeed perfectly circular, structure. There are two levels to the building, but the central atrium is open from the ground floor to the arched roof, which is where “camera” comes in.

The root of our English word “camera” is the Latin word “camera,” which meant “vaulted room,” which was filtered through Old French and also gave us the word “chamber.” While the earliest use of “chamber” in English was to mean what we today simply call a “room,” “camera” was used for a large room or building, particularly with a high, arched ceiling. Thus the Radcliffe Camera employs the original sense of “camera” in English.

More specific uses of “camera” in the 17th century included “chamber where a legislative or judicial body meets or deliberates.” This use persists only in the legal phrase “in camera,” which originally referred to a private meeting in a judge’s “chambers” (office), but today is used to mean simply “in private, away from public view.”

The 17th century also saw the use of “camera” in the term “camera obscura,” meaning literally “dark room.” It had long been known that light entering a darkened room through a small aperture would cast a faint reversed image of the view outside on the wall of the room, which could then be traced onto paper. Artists and scientists made use of this phenomenon to produce realistic renditions of nature and buildings, first employing actual darkened rooms, then portable versions of the setup, from small tents to, eventually, small boxes. With the development of photographic technology and improved optics in the 19th century, the “camera obscura” shrank still further and became known as simply a “camera.” Today anything capable of producing a photographic image, even digitally, is called a “camera,” so the camera in your cell phone is a direct descendant of an artist painstakingly tracing a faint image cast on the wall of a darkened room several hundred years ago.

Gal

And don’t call me Shirley.

Dear Word Detective: Where did the term “gal” originate, meaning a girl or female, or a female older than early teens? And what age group does it include? Did it always refer to females? — Cliff.

Now there’s a word I haven’t seen in a while. In fact, I was just thinking about it, and I came to the conclusion that I have never actually used the word “gal” in a non-sarcastic or non-jocular sense (that is, as a serious synonym of “girl” or “young woman”). One’s mileage may vary, of course, and the word certainly seems to be alive and well in tabloid-esque news headlines (“Charlie Sheen’s Party Gal Reveals All About 36 Hour Party Binge”), although the apparently eternally seductive rhyme of “gal pal” obviously explains many of them (“George Clooney gal pal Elisabetta Canalis shocked he’s staying single,” Vancouver Sun, 1/24/2011).

My aversion to “gal” is, obviously, generational. I remember my father using it un-selfconsciously, and it was accepted popular slang as of the 1950s and 60s (“Discussing cool and the degrees of coolness, one boy reported: ‘If you like a guy or gal, they’re cool’,” Newsweek, 1950). But by the time I was in college, “gal” applied to a young woman was considered as disrespectful and demeaning as “chick” or “girl.” I guess I absorbed the zeitgeist of my youth pretty thoroughly, because to this day I’m uncomfortable even using the word “girl” for anyone over the age of about twelve. “Gal”? Fuhgeddaboudit. In the 1940s, however, both “gal” and “girl” were applied to women in their twenties, thirties and beyond without, apparently, a second thought (e.g., “His Girl Friday,” a 1940 movie starring Cary Grant and Rosalind Russell, and the widespread use in the 1950s of “gal friday” to mean a female assistant).

The fact that the semantic social fortunes of “gal” and “girl” have waxed and waned in concert is not surprising given that the two are, drum roll please, actually the same word. “Gal” first appeared as slang in England in the late 18th century and originated as a Cockney pronunciation of the word “girl.” It was considered, not surprisingly, an abomination by language arbiters of the day (“Improprieties, commonly called Vulgarisms, [include] … Gal for girl,” The Columbian Grammar, 1795). Interestingly, the “lower classes” weren’t the only ones putting their stamp on “girl” at the time. By the mid-19th century the upper crust of London were speaking (and writing) of “gels,” which was simply “girl” with an upper-class (or affectedly upper-class) pronunciation. On the Gilligan’s Island Scale of Social Class Markers, one can easily picture the blustering Skipper blurting “gal” in every third sentence, while zillionaire Thurston Howell III would definitely say “gel” in his Locust Valley Lockjaw (the stereotypical upper-class American style of speaking through clenched teeth, named after the wealthy North Shore of Long Island). As far as I can tell, “gel” never really established a foothold in the US outside of ruling-class redoubts such as Grosse Pointe and Greenwich, but it’s still used today in Britain, often to mean, as the Oxford English Dictionary puts it, “an upper-class or aristocratic young Englishwoman.”

Incidentally, if you’re wondering where “girl” itself came from, you’re in good company. No one knows for sure, although etymologists have several fairly complicated theories. All we know for certain is that “girl” first appeared in the written record in Middle English (as “garl” or “geerl”) meaning simply “a child” of either sex. Use of “girl” to mean specifically “a young woman” dates to the 14th century.