What a Shocking Bad Hat! or, we have always been what we are

odditycollector:

A few years ago, I read “Memoirs of Extraordinary Popular Delusions and the Madness of Crowds“ by Charles Mackay, published in 1848, and there was one chapter that utterly and forever changed the way I think about internet memes.

I’m going to excerpt some of it below. Any bolding is mine - if you’re not in the mood to read a whole bunch, just see if those parts seem familiar.

Chapter 13: Popular Follies of Great Cities

And, first of all, walk where we will, we cannot help hearing from every side a phrase repeated with delight, and received with laughter, by men with hard hands and dirty faces — by saucy butcher lads and errand-boys — by loose women — by hackney coachmen, cabriolet drivers, and idle fellows who loiter at the corners of streets. Not one utters this phrase without producing a laugh from all within hearing. It seems applicable to every circumstance, and is the universal answer to every question; in short, it is the favourite slang phrase of the day, a phrase that, while its brief season of popularity lasts, throws a dash of fun and frolicsomeness over the existence of squalid poverty and ill-requited labour, and gives them reason to laugh as well as their more fortunate fellows in a higher stage of society.

London is peculiarly fertile in this sort of phrases, which spring up suddenly, no one knows exactly in what spot, and pervade the whole population in a few hours, no one knows how. Many years ago the favourite phrase (for, though but a monosyllable, it was a phrase in itself) was QUOZ. This odd word took the fancy of the multitude in an extraordinary degree, and very soon acquired an almost boundless meaning. When vulgar wit wished to mark its incredulity and raise a laugh at the same time, there was no resource so sure as this popular piece of slang. When a man was asked a favour which he did not choose to grant, he marked his sense of the suitor’s unparalleled presumption by exclaiming Quoz! When a mischievous urchin wished to annoy a passenger, and create mirth for his chums, he looked him in the face, and cried out Quoz! and the exclamation never failed in its object. When a disputant was desirous of throwing a doubt upon the veracity of his opponent, and getting summarily rid of an argument which he could not overturn, he uttered the word Quoz, with a contemptuous curl of his lip and an impatient shrug of his shoulders. The universal monosyllable conveyed all his meaning, and not only told his opponent that he lied, but that he erred egregiously if he thought that any one was such a nincompoop as to believe him. Every alehouse resounded with Quoz; every street corner was noisy with it, and every wall for miles around was chalked with it.

But, like all other earthly things, Quoz had its season, and passed away as suddenly as it arose, never again to be the pet and the idol of the populace. A new claimant drove it from its place, and held undisputed sway till, in its turn, it was hurled from its pre-eminence, and a successor appointed in its stead.

What a shocking bad hat!” was the phrase that was next in vogue. No sooner had it become universal, than thousands of idle but sharp eyes were on the watch for the passenger whose hat showed any signs, however slight, of ancient service. 

[…]

Hookey Walker, derived from the chorus of a popular ballad, was also high in favour at one time, and served, like its predecessor, Quoz, to answer all questions. […] This lasted for two or three months, and “Walker!” walked off the stage, never more to be revived for the entertainment of that or any future generation.

The next phrase was a most preposterous one. Who invented it, how it arose, or where it was first heard, are alike unknown. Nothing about it is certain, but that for months it was the slang par excellence of the Londoners, and afforded them a vast gratification. “There he goes with his eye out!” or “There she goes with her eye out!” as the sex of the party alluded to might be, was in the mouth of everybody who knew the town. The sober part of the community were as much puzzled by this unaccountable saying as the vulgar were delighted with it. The wise thought it very foolish, but the many thought it very funny, and the idle amused themselves by chalking it upon walls, or scribbling it upon monuments. But, “all that’s bright must fade,” even in slang. The people grew tired of their hobby, and “There he goes with his eye out!” was heard no more in its accustomed haunts.

[…] successor enjoyed a more extended fame, and laid its foundations so deep, that years and changing fashions have not sufficed to eradicate it. This phrase was “Flare up!” and it is, even now, a colloquialism in common use. […]

So universal was this phrase, and so enduring seemed its popularity, that a speculator, who knew not the evanescence of slang, established a weekly newspaper under its name. But he was like the man who built his house upon the sand; his foundation gave way under him, and the phrase and the newspaper were washed into the mighty sea of the things that were. The people grew at last weary of the monotony, and “flare up” became vulgar even among them. Gradually it was left to little boys who did not know the world, and in process of time sank altogether into neglect. It is now heard no more as a piece of popular slang; but the words are still used to signify any sudden outburst either of fire, disturbance, or ill-nature.

[…]

But it must not be supposed that there were no interregni between the dominion of one slang phrase and another. They did not arise in one long line of unbroken succession, but shared with song the possession of popular favour. Thus, when the people were in the mood for music, slang advanced its claims to no purpose, and, when they were inclined for slang, the sweet voice of music wooed them in vain. About twenty years ago London resounded with one chorus, with the love of which everybody seemed to be smitten. Girls and boys, young men and old, maidens and wives, and widows, were all alike musical. There was an absolute mania for singing, and the worst of it was, that, like good Father Philip, in the romance of “The Monastery,” they seemed utterly unable to change their tune. “Cherry ripe!” “Cherry ripe!” was the universal cry of all the idle in the town. Every unmelodious voice gave utterance to it; every crazy fiddle, every cracked flute, every wheezy pipe, every street organ was heard in the same strain, until studious and quiet men stopped their ears in desperation, or fled miles away into the fields or woodlands, to be at peace. This plague lasted for a twelvemonth, until the very name of cherries became an abomination in the land. At last the excitement wore itself away, and the tide of favour set in a new direction.

[…]

Such are a few of the peculiarities of the London multitude, when no riot, no execution, no murder, no balloon, disturbs the even current of their thoughts. These are the whimseys of the mass - the harmless follies by which they unconsciously endeavour to lighten the load of care which presses upon their existence. The wise man, even though he smile at them, will not altogether withhold his sympathy, and will say, “Let them enjoy their slang phrases and their choruses if they will; and if they cannot be happy, at least let them be merry.” […]

I left in a few of the stories  for full context, but left out some of my more favourite.

You can read the whole chapter (& book) here - it has been in the public domain for a while.  Be aware however that one of these “popular follies” is minstrel shows, although it is handled better than you might expect for 1848. Author fucking hates them. (Exactly *how* well it is handled depends on if you read paragraph 21 as sarcasm. I have a hard time doing otherwise.)

Just stumbled upon this, from the wikipedia article on quizzes:

There is a well-known myth about the word quiz that says that in 1791 a Dublin theater owner named James Daly made a bet that he could introduce a word into the language within 24 hours. He then went out and hired a group of street urchins to write the word “quiz”, which was a nonsense word, on walls around the city of Dublin. Within a day, the word was common currency and had acquired a meaning (since no one knew what it meant, everyone thought it was some sort of test) and Daly had some extra cash in his pocket.[2]However, there is no evidence to support the story, and the term was already in use before the alleged bet in 1791.

I wonder if this story was simply garbled over the years, and the word Daly actually popularized was “quoz”?

I know nausea is a not uncommon side effect of high-estrogen birth control methods, but I like to imagine it’s my body forcibly rejecting the extra female hormones.

Oh yeah so I’m in Tokyo now. Flight over was surprisingly endurable, mostly because the two seats next to me happened to be empty and I had the whole row to myself. (I have had persistent nausea problems since I got here – jet lag always hits me really hard – but it mostly hasn’t prevented me from enjoying myself.)

I’m here with my sister, who is staying for two months to learn Japanese (she’s already more or less fluent in French, Spanish and Chinese, and has used all of them to converse with fellow tourists during the course of this trip).

Essential Japan Experiences accomplished so far:

  • eaten sushi and (real) ramen
  • Drunk tea in a teahouse
  • perused yaoi manga at an Akihabara shop
  • ridden a “bullet train”
  • eaten a bento lunch
  • visited a hot springs bath (this was actually super enjoyable – being naked is only awkward for the first couple of minutes)
  • seen Mt. Fuji from a distance
  • and visited various shrines, gardens, museums, and other cool stuff.

ALSO stopped by the “Café & Snake”, the much cooler alternative to Japan’s ubiquitous “cat cafés”. Pictorial evidence below:

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Keep reading

Tags: personal

Keep reading

Tags: personal

theorigamiphoenix:
“ The best part about this old MS-DOS game is this splash screen and the bizarrely long backstory about how radiated cheese from a failed nuclear fusion reaction gave rise to a new form of life on earth in the form of humanoid...

theorigamiphoenix:

The best part about this old MS-DOS game is this splash screen and the bizarrely long backstory about how radiated cheese from a failed nuclear fusion reaction gave rise to a new form of life on earth in the form of humanoid living cheese.

Otherwise it’s just awful computer Risk.

Oh yeah, so I read Too Like the Lightning. Wasn’t really my thing.

I realize I can’t fairly judge the plot of a book that’s only the first half of a story (or the first quarter, or something). But I often have trouble getting engaged in stories focused primarily around “political intrigue”, even when they sound interesting in theory? IDK. The stuff about the different Hives was sort of cool, though it was never really explained how such an unlocalized political system could actually work in practice.

Then there’s the whole gimmick where people don’t use gendered pronouns in the future, which is mostly an excuse for the protagonist to go on and on about how of course you can’t really ignore gender because it’s tooo impooortant, which, OK. Maybe that’s true in the real world, for many or most people. But man, I really enjoy the fantasy of a world where not being gendered is at least a POSSIBILITY, and it’s not much fun having the narrator constantly interrupting to tell me what a dumb and impossible pipe dream it all is.

I’ll take Leckie’s version, thanks.

A while ago someone I follow started reblogging a bunch of witchy stuff, which ended up sending me down a rabbithole of YouTube videos about brewing potions and casting circles and how to charge a crystal under the full moon. I just really enjoy the whole ~witchcraft~ aesthetic, IDK. And there’s something appealing about how open and individualistic a lot of neopagan sensibility seems to be (the Wiccan Rede is a philosophy I can really get behind).

Of course my interest in the whole thing sorta hits a brick wall at my complete inability to believe in anything supernatural. But I won’t deny there’s a part of me that wishes I could.

Tags: religion

kindlecoverdisasters:

I wrote this piece for Genre Reader. Check it out, why not?

gyroshelper:

This Donald Duck comic (“Write Thinking”, from U$366) is the most #relatable thing ever.

So Donald decides he wants to be a writer. He has so many great ideas… if only he could concentrate long enough to get them down on paper!

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He decides that just dreaming up story ideas is work enough, and there must be an easier way to get the actual “writing” part done.

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When that plan doesn’t work, he goes to Gyro, who has a solution:

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What I wouldn’t give for one of those!

But of course isn’t as easy as that. Various hijinks ensue, as Donald discovers that a) even with a magic machine to do the writing for you, it still takes more than a good idea to make a good book and b) none of his own ideas are particularly good or original anyway. Instead he and Gyro start mass-producing the Think-o-Matics and selling them, resulting in everyone in Duckburg producing their own terrible books that no one wants to read.

Gyro eventually upgrades the device to create ebooks instead of physical books, but –

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Finally Donald devises the perfect solution:

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If only creativity, and satisfaction in one’s work, were that easy…

vessel-haver:

voxette-vk:

megaultravires:

rubegoldbergsaciddreams:

defectivealtruist:

rubegoldbergsaciddreams:

please everyone take this quiz it’s so important

my gender is VENDING MACHINE

Nice! I got THE INKY VOID BETWEEN THE STARS

This is a safe space for THE MOON FROM MAJORA’S MASK I hope

Your gender is: FINE

[Dog in burning room comic.]

Seriously, it’s completely fine. Nothing wrong here at all. This is a totally acceptable and normal gender with which to find yourself.

Your gender is: MISSINGNO

Your gender is a dual-type Bird/Normal glitch Pokémon in Pokémon Red and Blue, and a dual-type Normal/randomly named glitch type (which often has ‘9’ in it) glitch Pokémon in Pokémon Yellow. It is arguably the best known glitch Pokémon, closely followed by ’M (00) and it is the easiest glitch Pokémon to find in the localizations. It has five distinct forms.

Keats also turned to himself as the subject of a lifelong thought experiment, undertaken through the act of living. To make the experiment scientifically rigorous, he established a scientific control in the form of a high-density carbon graphite block precisely calibrated to match the carbon weight of his own body. The block was placed on display under a bell jar at the Exploratorium in San Francisco.

At Modernism Gallery in San Francisco the following month, Keats developed new miracles, including novel solar systems and supernova pyrotechnic displays, which he made available for licensing by gods.

Keats attempted to counteract the global recession in November by introducing a mirror economy backed by antimatter.

this guy’s wikipedia page is a wild ride

worldbuilding prablems

trying to work out a general purpose calendar/timekeeping system for two species with completely different sleep/wake cycles (due to having evolved on different planets with very different solar days) and which are both presently residing on a third planet with yet another completely different solar day

Today I managed to lock myself out of my apartment, while my phone was inside. My mom has my spare key, but she lives half an hour away (by car, and my car key was in my apartment). I couldn’t use somebody else’s phone to call her because I don’t have her (or anyone else’s!) number memorized. I tried to email her from my neighbor’s computer, but gmail won’t let you log in from a strange machine without verifying your identity through your phone.

In the end I had to walk back to work (which is only 15 minutes away, fortunately), managed to arrive there before everyone had left for the weekend, hammered on the window until somebody let me in (because my office key was ALSO locked in my apartment) and emailed Mom from my work computer.

If this had happened to me on Saturday or Sunday – or even slightly later on Friday night – I would have been seriously fucked. Losing access to one’s phone in this day and age is no joke.

(Alternate moral to take from all this: don’t leave your only spare key with someone who lives halfway across town.)

Tags: rl

Tag yourself I’m boyboygirl.

Tag yourself I’m boyboygirl.

Tags: nonbinary