evanevanevan

I recently read The Mabinogion, a collection of Welsh legends from the 12th through 15th centuries recommended to me by Alexis, my favorite medievalist. The book's first tale includes a description of a game that was apparently quite popular at one time. In the story, a prince named Pwyll captures his enemy Gwawl in a magic bag:

As each of Pwyll's men entered, he struck the bag a blow and asked, 'What's in here?'

'A badger,' the others said.

This is how they played: each one would strike the bag a blow either with his foot or with a stick; and that is how they played with the bag. Each one as he entered would ask, 'So what game are you playing?' 'Badger in the Bag', the others would say. And that was the first time that Badger in the Bag was played.

The translator Sioned Davies's footnote doesn't elaborate too much on the rules, explaining it only as "a game which involves tying a man in a bag or sack, then beating and kicking him."

I think we've found the perfect winter sport to play when my summer buck buck league is in its offseason.

Skyler in Alsip writes:
The octodog diagram is somewhat unclear on this: should you cook the hot dog before or after you turn it into an octodog?

We performed an experiment to figure out the solution to this age-old question at my cookout this Fourth of July. The results are below.

Octodogged first and then cooked:

Cooked first and then octodogged:

So, in conclusion, it's simply a matter of personal preference.

"-But ouf! So much esprit has left us quite
Parched for a double shot of corps."

--

"Upstairs, DJ's already at the simmer
Phoning the company. He gets one pair
Of words wrong—means to say "kalorifér"
(Furnace) but out comes "kalokéri" (summer):
Our summer doesn't work, he keeps complaining
While, outside, cats and dogs just keep on raining."

- James Merrill, The Changing Light at Sandover

(Yeah, the first one's not really a couplet. So sue me!)

[new york times]

Thanks, Human Resources, you're the best!

A few years ago, I lived in a rented condo in a building in Bridgeport occupied almost exclusively by Chinese families. One day, we got a call from a rather incoherent Chinese lady, presumably from the condo association. She said that the downstairs neighbors had complained that they couldn't sleep all the night before because of sounds from our apartment that sounded like "working." We explained we had no idea what they were referring to, that we were both asleep at the time and had heard no noises, but if they ever do figure out what the cause is, we'd be interested to know.

The next morning we found a note taped to our door, obviously typed in Microsoft Notepad. I've been looking to find the original copy to scan with no luck, but fortunately I had the foresight to type it up exactly as it appeared on paper, which is below. We left him a message explaining that we were sorry but weren't responsible for whatever was keeping him up at night. He showed up at our door the next morning in his pajamas, with bloodshot eyes, accompanied by an interpreter who spoke only slightly more English. We offered our hypothesis that it was the big radiator things in the roof of the garage directly beneath his apartment, but he scowled and dismissed the idea. He also clearly wanted to enter our apartment to take a look around, for "machinary" I suppose, but we didn't give him the opportunity, and we didn't hear from him again.

The note:

Untitled
From: ### W 31ST st apt:2H owner
To: ### W 31ST st apt:3H

My friend:
We are the people that living under your condo, since you guys moved in, we
have start
hearing a lot of rambling noise that are very disturbing and annoying every night.
We can't stand
this noises because it's getting louder and way more often then it's used to be.
Since we need to
get up and work every day, we require a lot of sleep time. Beside, acording to the
floor plan of this
condorium, the room that coming the noise should be a big bedroom, the noises is
like a
machinary sound. I do not care what you guys are doing up there, but this noise MUST
BE STOP,
if this issue still occuring, then we have no choice but to call the police and let
them enforce the
rule. If you need to talk to us, please contact my cell phone number: 312-###-####.
My name
is Ben.

Thank you.

"At the railroad station he noted that he still had thirty minutes. He quickly recalled that in a cafe on the Calle Brazil (a few dozen feet from Yrigoyen's house) there was an enormous cat which allowed itself to be caressed as if it were a disdainful divinity. He entered the cafe. There was the cat, asleep. He ordered a cup of coffee, slowly stirred the sugar, sipped it (this pleasure had been denied him in the clinic), and thought, as he smoothed the cat's black coat, that this contact was an illusion and that the two beings, man and cat, were as good as separated by a glass, for man lives in time, in succession, while the magical animal lives in the present, in the eternity of the instant."

- "The South," Jorge Luis Borges

"There are a few different types of cat-café customers. Newcomers will be so swept up in the distinct atmosphere that they will just sit there stunned. It looked as if most of them had never had a pet cat or even touched one before and it seemed like they were struggling to come to terms with the unpredictable behavior of real cats while their fantasies of docile, purring balls of love were being shot to hell. In an hour’s stay, most could only manage to touch a passing cat just once. Many customers seemed like the shy, meek, silent type who were in need of a hug or two. Since these sorts don’t have the courage to go up to a cat and play with it themselves, they would read a book and sip coffee while they patiently hoped for a cat to come closer. It broke my heart."

- Vice article on cat-cafés in Japan

(via wnderflu)

There is a commercial where an incredibly smug man brags about knowing exactly what he wants to order at the Olive Garden without even having to consult a menu.

This is the worst man in the world.