Kablammo!

A document I’m dealing with right now includes references to a German document—which I’ve asked for a translation of, as it appears particularly relevant—as well as a French one. Just for the hell of it I started perusing the French one, and to my delight I found that I could actually follow it, more or less. I’m not versed with the more (or even the less) technical terms, but putting context clues together with the provided figures gave me a pretty good understanding of what was being said. And of course, words like glissière are loaded with other clues (that’s just gotta be legit- and not false-cognate).

I checked several of the words on Babelfish, and they did mean what I thought they did (glissière apparently means “slide”, who’d have thunk?). Based on that, I decided to see how good a job Babelfish would do with a longer passage. The last time I tried that was in my 11th grade French class, which is a[n altogether uninteresting] story for a different time, but suffice it to say that Babelfish didn’t do a very good job.

But I thought that perhaps, 7 or 8 years later Babelfish might do a better job, especially because what I’m looking at is rather stilted and unnatural prose to begin with, and not what would pass for leisure reading. I was pleasantly surprised.

Here’s a few paragraphs of the original text:

Un socle 1 reposant sur le sol et pouvant avoir un profil quelconque est solidaire de deux glissières verticales 2 constituées chacune de quatre fers plats convenablement entretoisés en 3. Ces deux glissières sont, en outre, reliées l’une à l’autre, à leur partie supérieure, par une traverse entretoise fixé 4.

Dans chacune de ces glissières est prisonnier un coulisseau 5 guidé par des galets 6 et solidaire d’une barre 7 servant de support à des traverses 8 constituant le berceau sur lequel vient reposer le meuble bureau par son assise normale au lieu de reposer sur le sol.

Une barre compensatrice 9 est montée également à coulisse dans les glissières 2 mais dans des passages 10 indépendants de ceux des coulisseaux 5 de façon à pouvoir se croiser avec eux sans se gêner.

And here’s Babelfish’s rendition:

A base 1 resting on the ground and which can have an unspecified profile is interdependent of two vertical slides 2 made up each one of four flats suitably braced into 3. These two slides, moreover, are connected one to the other, with their higher part, by a cross-piece braces fixed 4.

In each one of these slides is a prisoner a slide 5 guided by rollers 6 and interdependent of a bar 7 being used as support with cross-pieces 8 component the cradle on which comes to put back the piece of furniture office by its normal base instead of resting on the ground.

A compensation bar 9 is also moved up to slide in slides 2 but in passages 10 independent of those of slides 5 in order to be able to cross with them without obstructing itself.

Really, not too shabby.

I hate routine.

And yet here I am, day in and day out, snoozing the same alarm at the same time, hurrying to catch the same shuttle to make the same metro train, to sit in the same windowless room and do the same stuff. And then every day I’m also using the same stall in the bathroom, washing my hands beneath the same faucet, and every afternoon at low-blood-sugar time, buying the same beverage from the cafe thing downstairs. I’m that guy who knows what he’s getting to the point where he has exact change ready before he even leaves his office.

I wish my attention span were longer than three months.

War has always been a scourge. It not only destroys lives and property in a direct manner through shot, shell, bombs and fire but it often leaves in its wake death and disease in many other forms. Among these, typhus has probably been the greatest killer, and, malaria, another destroyer, offers a constant menace because of its prevalence in the tropics. The cause of these threats to human life are the many in­sects that car­ry dis­ease. In con­trast to other great con­flicts, we hear little about the loss of life due to pestilence in this war. Why is this?

As in so many cases we won’t find the answer in one of today’s scientific discoveries. Here we shall have to go back more than seventy years and look over the shoulder of a chemical student, Othmar Zeidler, performing an experiment in Strasbourg. Young Zeidler on this particular day in 1874 produced a new chemical which he recorded in his notes as dichloro diphenyl trichloroethane—D.D.T. for short. But he saw no use for it, and the formula lay dormant in the records of the Chemical Society for sixty-five years.

In 1939 Swiss farmers were bothered with an unusual number of insects and since there was a great shortage of the usual insecticides the Geigy Chemical Company of Switzerland began to look around for substitutes. One of their young chemists, Paul Mueller, resurrected Zeidler’s old formula and tried out some of the D.D.T. The results were amazing. It took only the slightest contact with the chemical to kill the insects.

But the Swiss scientists found the usefulness of the new insecticide was not limited to just plant destroyers—it was equally effective against flies and lice. And when the War broke out and with it came the threat of typhus the Geigy Company’s American branch in New York turned over to our Army samples of the new insecticide which they had received from the parent company in Switzerland. In Orlando, Florida, government entomologists began to test the new material and all of the amazing claims were justified. A little D.D.T. powder dusted into the clothes safeguards the wearer from ty­phus—for two weeks—and if the clothes were washed in a so­lu­tion of the che­mi­cal the pe­ri­od was ex­ten­ded to three months!

When sprayed over a stag­nant pool it com­plete­ly rid the wa­ter of mos­qui­to lar­vae with­in 24 hours—an ef­fec­tive ans­wer to ma­la­ri­a. Next it was tried on the walls of a barn literally infested with flies. As if by magic the flies disappeared and were not seen again for over a month. D.D.T. had passed all the tests and came through as the outstanding insect-killer. But now that its potency was proven there still remained the problem of getting it in large quantities.

The pioneer company to tackle the job in this country was the Cincinnati Chemical Works. It is one thing to produce something in the laboratory test tubes and another to manufacture it by the ton. But the difficulties were overcome, and in 1943, D.D.T. began to go to the fighting fronts. As other companies went into production the new chemical joined our armed forces on the battlefronts in ever-increasing quantities. No one who has ever fought the battle of disease will underestimate the importance of this most powerful weapon.

But insects are with us not only during a war—we wage a constant battle against them at all times. They destroy the farmer’s crops and spread disease among all mankind. In India alone malaria kills a million people a year and in this country the com­mon fly trans­mits dis­ease to thou­sands. D.D.T. is our new wea­pon against the great loss caused an­nu­al­ly by some eight thou­sand dif­fer­ent kinds of in­sects. For home pro­tec­tion we can spray a screen and a fly won’t light on it for three months. It will kill more dif­fer­ent kinds of in­sects us­ing a small­er dose than an­y oth­er che­mi­cal now known. Undoubtedly when the War is over it will be sold to the public for general use.

Little did the young Zeidler know that day in Strasbourg that he was providing man with one of his most powerful weapons against disease-carrying insects. This is nearly always the case in the most important discoveries—the inventor rarely sees the ultimate application of his idea. For this reason we should encourage and treasure every new development—however unimportant it may seem at the time. Some day in an emergency it may turn out to be a thing of utmost importance.

Clifford Brown died 50 years ago today.

If you know who he was, you know why that was a goddamn tragedy. And if you don’t know who he was, well, you’re living proof that it was a goddamn tragedy.

He’s not even in the same class as Robert Johnson or Kurt Cobain (or Len Bias, for that matter), since he didn’t play a part in his untimely demise.

But as you listen to his recorded legacy, don’t weep over what might have been, just celebrate what was.

Song of the Moment: «I Get a Kick out of You» — Clifford Brown

Call me crazy, and call me a huge nerd, but all of this stuff is fascinating:

• Wankel engine
• Reuleaux triangles
• Square wheels
• Dymaxion car

No matter what my mood, Cherry 7-Up never fails to make me feel better.

Do any of these sound like books worth reading? Or writing?

• Standard Oil to Enron: American Energy Through the 20th Century
• Jim Crow to Diebold: A History of American Disenfranchisement
• OJ, Göring, Scopes: “The Trial of the Century” Through the Century

Kindlasti selle viis on juba tuttav.

Oh kusepuu, oh kusepuu,
kui märjad on su oksad!
Sind kastis minu vaene põis,
ennem kui pingest lõhki lõi.
Oh kusepuu, oh kusepuu,
kui märjad on su oksad!

Oh kusepuu, oh kusepuu,
sa oled mulle kasuks!
Ei pidan’t vetsu kõndima
kui leidsin sind nii lähedal.
Oh kusepuu, oh kusepuu,
sa oled mulle kasuks!

Oh kusepuu, oh kusepuu,
kui kollaselt sa tilgud!
Kuldset dušši võtnud sa,
sest mitu õlut joonud ma.
Oh kusepuu, oh kusepuu,
kui kollaselt sa tilgud!

Lastehaiglas olles mul ei tulnud õhtul uni,
ikka olin üleval ja kuni hommikuni.
Haigla oli varem olnud mingi elumaja —
olid toad ja esikud ja vannitoad, kus vaja.
Minu palat oli kohe vastu vannituba,
uksetahvel aga klaasist, läbipaistvast juba.
Oli aeg, kus enam polnud, kuid ei olnud veel
matti klaasi, jääklaasi — nägi läbi veel.
Õhtul tehti tuled surnuks, lapsed unne jäivad.
Ma ei jäänud, piilusin, kuis õed ja tädid käivad.
Vahekojas põles tuli — üldse mitte hele —
mina olin keskendunud oma ootusele.
Ja ma nägin igal õhtul — kui tal oli mahti — ,
kuidas õde vanni läks ja jättis ukse lahti.
Siis ei teadnud, miks ta jättis, nüüd ma tean, et liiga
palav oli vannitoas, seepärast tegi nii ta.
Miks, ei ole tagantjägi enam oluline,
oli vaid see vaatepilt, see vanniskäigu-ime.
Kuidas viskas kitli varna, kuidas vaatas varvast!
Ihu liikus, vesi tilkus ninast, käest ja karvast.
Ilu igas liigutuses — kaunim luulest, filmist;
olin tummas vaimustuses arstitädi Silvist.
Oligi see kogu ravi. Siis sain haiglast välja.

Ravi kestab.
Tema mõju
ma ei mõelnud välja.

My apologies to Juhan Viiding.

Holy crap, I haven’t played that marble game in ages.

Also, pink polo shirt with a canary collar? A canary popped collar? Six-year-old me had style that would make Tom and Enn so jealous.

In other news, I wonder what Samu is up to these days. Still eating shitloads of salmiakki, I wager.