Today is my fiftieth birthday. That's a nice, round, easy-to-add number, which is probably why I remember figuring in elementary school that I would turn 50 in the distant, future year 2025. That seemed a very long way off back then. A 50-year-old me still feels a long way off, and I guess that's just going to have to be good enough.

UPDATE: Look at this sweet stack of books that my aunt gave me! Famous Last Words: An Anthology, A Brief History of Death, Pulp Empire: The Secret History of Comic Imperialism, The Fires of Lust: Sex on the Middle Ages, But Can I Start a Sentence with "But"?: Advice from the Chicago Style Q&A, Who's a Good Dog?: And How to Be a Better Human, Canine Confidential: Why Dogs Do What They Do, and Show People: A History of the Film Star. (Don't blame her. I picked all of those titles out from a University of Chicago Press catalog. What can I say? I like to read about death, comic books, sex, grammar, dogs, and movies, maybe even in that order.)

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"The deportations will continue until morale improves."

According to multiple generally-trustworthy news sources, that was the response that a spokesman for the Governor of Florida gave today concerning a court order that the state's immigrant detention camp in the Everglades must be closed within 60 days.

Variations of the common quip "The beatings will continue until morale improves" have existed since at least Voltaire wrote Candide in the 18th century. The sentiment is always meant satirically, as (surprise, surprise) beatings will always have the opposite effect of improving morale.

So the question becomes: did the spokesman intend his comment satirically? Is he a subversive in the unwitting Governor's employ? Does the governor want Floridians to have bad morale? Or did he read Candide and decide, like Pangloss, that we really do live in the best of all possible worlds? I think it's most likely that the spokesman only knows the phrase from ironic t-shirts. Which is a shame, as Candide is very, very good.

In any event, if the job of a spokesman is to communicate ideas with clarity, this person is bad at his job. But I suppose that if being good at your job was a requirement for governments, they would definitely be much, much smaller.

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A timely excerpt from Mark Twain's
A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court (1889)
Chapter VI, "The Eclipse"

As the soldiers assisted me across the court the stillness was so profound that if I had been blindfold I should have supposed I was in a solitude instead of walled in by four thousand people. There was not a movement perceptible in those masses of humanity; they were as rigid as stone images, and as pale; and dread sat upon every countenance. This hush continued while I was being chained to the stake; it still continued while the fagots were carefully and tediously piled about my ankles, my knees, my thighs, my body.

Then there was a pause, and a deeper hush, if possible, and a man knelt down at my feet with a blazing torch; the multitude strained forward, gazing, and parting slightly from their seats without knowing it; the monk raised his hands above my head, and his eyes toward the blue sky, and began some words in Latin; in this attitude he droned on and on, a little while, and then stopped. I waited two or three moments; then looked up; he was standing there petrified.

With a common impulse the multitude rose slowly up and stared into the sky. I followed their eyes, as sure as guns, there was my eclipse beginning! The life went boiling through my veins; I was a new man! The rim of black spread slowly into the sun’s disk, my heart beat higher and higher, and still the assemblage and the priest stared into the sky, motionless. I knew that this gaze would be turned upon me, next. When it was, I was ready. I was in one of the most grand attitudes I ever struck, with my arm stretched up pointing to the sun. It was a noble effect. You could see the shudder sweep the mass like a wave. Two shouts rang out, one close upon the heels of the other:

"Apply the torch!"

"I forbid it!"

The one was from Merlin, the other from the king. Merlin started from his place—to apply the torch himself, I judged. I said:

"Stay where you are. If any man moves—even the king—before I give him leave, I will blast him with thunder, I will consume him with lightnings!"

The multitude sank meekly into their seats, and I was just expecting they would. Merlin hesitated a moment or two, and I was on pins and needles during that little while. Then he sat down, and I took a good breath; for I knew I was master of the situation now. The king said:

"Be merciful, fair sir, and essay no further in this perilous matter, lest disaster follow. It was reported to us that your powers could not attain unto their full strength until the morrow; but—"

"Your Majesty thinks the report may have been a lie? It was a lie."

That made an immense effect; up went appealing hands everywhere, and the king was assailed with a storm of supplications that I might be bought off at any price, and the calamity stayed. The king was eager to comply. He said:

"Name any terms, reverend sir, even to the halving of my kingdom; but banish this calamity, spare the sun!"

My fortune was made. I would have taken him up in a minute, but I couldn’t stop an eclipse; the thing was out of the question. So I asked time to consider. The king said:

"Ah, too bad. Oh, well, if'n we can't have the sun, we can at least have a barbecue. Light 'im up, lads."

Reaching up one sleeve, Merlin produced a wand. Reaching into the other, the magician revealed a bag of marshmallows. Piercing one with the other, he asked:

"S'mores, anyone?"

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When I was in elementary school, my favorite book was Bunnicula. (Actually, if memory serves, my favorite was the third book in the "Bunnicula" series, The Celery Stalks at Midnight. You gotta love that title!)

In a fit of nostalgia, I searched to see if that book was still in publication. Turns out it is. A 40th Anniversary Edition was released in 2019. And surprise, surprise, in 2016 it was turned into a series of 104 cartoons for Cartoon Network. (Where was I while that was happening?)

Now, I happen to know that the 2016 cartoon is not the first animated adaptation. Bunnicula, the Vampire Rabbit was produced in 1982 by Ruby-Spears (the same company that brought the world Police Academy: The Animated Series). I had only the vaguest recollection that this existed, and if you don't remember seeing it, that's because it is objectively awful.

Teach the kids early: the book is always better than the movie.

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True story: Emma is my favorite Jane Austen novel, and I was really looking forward to the latest movie adaptation when it finally opened in my local theater the second weekend in March. (I've seen other adaptations, of course. The 1996 version is good enough that it almost made me like Gwyneth Paltrow.) However, the second week in March coincided with the arrival of COVID-19 and the global shutdown. That's right, this whole pandemic exists just to keep me from Emma. Curses!

Well, I finally fooled you, COVID-19.

126. (1780.) Emma. (2020)

Fifteen minutes into my rental, Mom asked me, "What is it you like so much about bitches?" She was referring to protagonist Emma Woodhouse, who at the start the novel is very unlikable indeed, something the movie leans into *hard*. (Some might say that she's not much better at the end. Those people are heartless monsters.) Mom also knows I just watched 6 seasons of Downton Abbey and developed a bit of a crush on Lady Mary Crawley, another character who always gets it her way. In response to her question, I replied, "I like women who are like my mother." We did not talk much for the rest of the movie.

The enjoyment of Jane Austen's story is Emma's journey of self-discovery through a series of misadventures and comic misunderstandings which the movie does perfectly. In fact, the movie does just about everything perfectly. If you can't get behind Miss Woodhouse and the rest of the amazing cast, you at least should be able to marvel at the lush, Technicolor-like cinematography and stunning Regency period outfits. (Oscars for everyone!)

If I have any complaint, it's that the relationship between Emma and her beau develops too quickly. (Austen's Emma is constructed more as a detective novel than a romance. All the clues are there the whole time, but nothing comes together until the end.) It's a minor quibble, and the modernization of the plot does nothing to damage an otherwise wonderful adaptation. (The Harry Potter movies disabused me of the notion that movies should be exact visual duplications of their source material. If you're going to adapt another piece of art, you need to bring something new to the table.)

I've been in such a foul humor lately, what with the eternal cycle of bad news, that it's truly an unexpected delight to have a distraction like this. While I've always highly recommended Emma, the novel, I can now do the same with Emma., the movie.

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“It is demonstrable,” said [Master Pangloss], “that things cannot be otherwise than they are; for as all things have been created for some end, they must necessarily be created for the best end. Observe, for instance, the nose is formed for spectacles, therefore we wear spectacles. The legs are visibly designed for stockings, accordingly we wear stockings. Stones were made to be hewn, and to construct castles, therefore my lord has a magnificent castle; for the greatest baron in the province ought to be the best lodged. Swine were intended to be eaten; therefore we eat pork all the year round: and they who assert that everything is right do not express themselves correctly; they should say, that everything is best.”

All is for the best in the best of all possible worlds.

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The spirit raised a frightful cry, and shook its chain with such a dismal and appalling noise, that Scrooge held on tight to his chair, to save himself from falling in a swoon. But how much greater was his horror, when the phantom taking off the bandage round its head, as if it were too warm to wear indoors, its lower jaw dropped down upon its breast!

Scrooge fell upon his knees, and clasped his hands before his face. "Mercy!" he said. "Dreadful apparition, why do you trouble me?"

"Man of the worldly mind!" replied the Ghost, "do you believe in me or not?"

"I do," said Scrooge.

"I don't," said Velma, drawing aside the curtain to reveal herself and her friends. "Now, Fred!"

A lasso of rope fell over the Ghost's shoulders, squeezing its arms against its sides. "Let me free!" it demanded.

"What kind of ghost can be caught with a rope?" asked Daphne.

"This is no ghost," said Velma. She placed her hand on the captive spirit's head, and with a quick jerk, pulled off its mask to reveal an unexpected visage that Scrooge recognized immediately.

"Bob Cratchit!" he cried. "My clerk? But why? How?"

"Mr. Cratchit was jealous of your wealth," explained Fred. "His plan was to feed you spicy pepperoni pizzas for dinner so that you would have bad dreams he could influence with these fake hauntings."

"Once you were scared enough, he was going to talk you into giving your entire fortune to charity," added Velma.

"I would have gotten away with it too, if it wasn't for you meddling kids!" said Bob.

"And me," said Scooby-Doo.

"Like, those pizzas were delicious, weren't they, Scoob?" said Shaggy, rubbing his dog on the head.

Scooby licked his lips. "Dee-ricious!"

"Thank 'ee," said Scrooge. "I am much obliged to you. I thank you fifty times. Bless you!"

"Does this mean we can count on you to make a donation to our Christmas fund?" Daphne asked hopefully.

"Bah!" said Scrooge, "Humbug!"

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I just finished a book called 100 Things You're Not Supposed to Know. I can't attest to the accuracy of that title. 100 Things You Probably Don't Know but Might Like to Know is probably more accurate, but not by a lot. The book jacket promotes such tidbits as "Most corporations pay no income tax," and "SUVs are three times more likely than other cars to kill people they hit." Neither of those qualify as breaking news.

The book was originally published in 2002. Maybe most of these 100 things were secret back then. Certainly, it took some people a long time to cotton onto the insidious misuse of the Patriot Act against everyday Americans. Certainly, no one in 2002 had seen Spotlight and may not have known that the Catholic Church was actively aiding pedophiles. However, I don't think that the facts that the Korean War never officially ended or that Victorian-era feminists opposed abortion qualify as stuff I'm not supposed to know. Maybe they're just stuff we don't care about.

To it's credit, there were two things in the book that I didn't know and have now committed to memory. The first is that the highest suicide rate in America belongs to the elderly (nearly 55 males per 100,000 over 84), and the overwhelming method of choice is a handgun. Was I supposed to know that? Because I didn't.

The other new fact was Exodus 34:14:

For thou shalt worship no other god: for the Lord, whose name is Jealous, is a jealous God

That's right, God's name is "Jealous." I thought I'd read the whole Bible when I was much younger than I am now, but I certainly didn't remember that. The Bible seems like a bad place to hide things I'm not supposed to know.

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Among the other things my aunt dropped off while housecleaning last week was a copy of The Literary Digest Vol. 55 No. 14 cover dated October 6, 1917. Much as the Newsweek would be familiar to modern readers, so too this magazine's warnings about the dangers posed by illegal aliens (in this case German agents), military chaos in Russia (in this case the result of two Russian Revolutions), and the failure of the public at large to respect its soldiers (in this case resulting from a lack of patriotic songs). If you think shit in the world is bad now, be glad you weren't living in 1917.

The most familiar aspects of this magazine are the advertisements. Covering everything from handsaws to night shirts, most of the advertisements are — unsurprisingly in a "literary" publication — for books. Mail away and you can teach yourself electrical engineering, learn how to raise rabbits for fun and profit, and speak French in time for your deployment to the front. But the most intriguing ad might be this:

A "wholesome" guide to everything I need to know about sex in 1917? Must be a short book. Thanks to the magic of the Information Age, we no longer need to mail $2 to Philadelphia to find out what Knowledge a Young Man Should Have. All 232 pages of Sexology by William H. Walling (including its 2 illustrations!) are available for free on Google Books.

First of all, the book was 13 years old by 1917, so some of its medical advice was probably outdated. But that wouldn't have been an issue for Professor Walling. Most of his teachings were based on tradition, anecdote, or religion that would have been more at home in Ripley's Believe It or Not. Chapter IV, "Masturbation, Male," opens with the incrimination, "viewing the world over, this shameful and criminal act is the most frequent, as well as the most fatal, of all vices." Is that so? I don't think there are many episodes of Law and Order where the coroners has listed "jerking off" as the cause of death.

"Dr. Doussin Deubreuil relates the case of a child who contracted the habit spontaneously at the age of five years, who, in spite of all that could be done, died at sixteen having lost his reason at eleven."

The book gives no guide to what sorts of cures could be used to prevent the inevitable "loss of memory and intelligence" inflicted upon even the occasional masturbator. Just know that if you do it, you're gonna lose your marbles and die. I suspect this is the prototypical case of the cure being worse than the disease.

This sort of drivel takes up 8 pages. A further 7 pages are devoted to the equal dangers of "Masturbation, Female" ("Alas, that such a term is possible!"). There's also guidance on the physical and moral dangers of abortion and incest and an accompanying medical explanation that the "softer and less voluminous" brains of women make them easily confused and stupid. You can't argue with science, ladies!

But the good doctor isn't a monster. His book advises strongly against rape (even by married men of their wives) and does its best to dispel myths about marriage, pregnancy, and childbirth. (He's a big fan of breast over bottle.) "A husband is generally the architect of his own misfortunes," is the first bit of wisdom listed in his final chapter. Of course the same chapter ends with "The only recipe for permanent happiness in wedlock: Christianity" does go a few steps too far.

In the 21st century, we've gotten use to misinformation and bad science disseminated through blog posts and cable news. Isn't it nice to know that the self-proclaimed experts of a century ago and their mail-order instructional manuals were just as bad?

(Footnote: If you want to read about how the motion picture industry is actually becoming — gasp! — big business in 1917 America, you can also read that copy of The Literary Digest online here.)

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I've read a lot of books, and I haven't liked a lot of them. However, there are really only two books I hate. One of those is John Knowles' A Separate Peace. (A whole book devoted to a character who pushes his best friend out of a tree? Fuck you, sir.) The other book is Johnny Tremain.

123. (870.) Johnny Tremain (1957)

When I read it for school back in 1980-something, I wish I had known I could have taken a shortcut with this movie. (Though there are significant departures between book and screen.) I discovered it by accident on TCM the other day and watched it because I wondered how it would compare. Not surprisingly, it's better. But then, it would have to be.

The book version of Johnny Tremain is a self-pitying, whiny little cripple. The movie version is much shallower, preferring to spend his time mugging for the camera. His malady is treated as a quickly-resolved plot device. This glib tripe would be annoying in a real film, but it works fine in this after-school special intended for Disney's family-friendly television show.

What really works here isn't the character or plot or primer of American Revolutionary history but the matte paintings that flesh out 18th century Boston. The ship's masts and historical settings are spectacular. Say what you will about CGI, but you really don't need Maya or AfterEffects when you have Walt Disney's gifted painters. (The blog nzpetesmatteshot.blogspot.com credits the paintings to Peter Ellenshaw, Albert Whitlock, and Jim Fetherolf.)

Can I recommend Johnny Tremain the movie? No. But I don't hate it, either. That's powerful proof of the patented Disney magic at work.

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