Early this morning, my wife drew our attention to a dead body lying in the meadow. We needed binoculars to see it well, goodness knows how she spotted it. It’s the black dot behind the ash tree twig, slap in the centre of this picture:
Here is an enlargement:
As I approached, there was no sign of a struggle:
I think it might have been…
a discarded hallowe’en costume. It was made of felt and there was a piece of satin ribbon sewn around its perimeter that I thought gave it a witchy look.
I hung it on a nearby sapling, where it was immediately inspected by an elderly man who was passing by. He walked on, but I doubt it will still be hanging there by lunchtime.
A Bad Guide 
Aha.
So the villain had already spirited away the remains, leaving the empty wrapping for the old man to carry away, thus removing all traces of the evidence.
But it’s plain the goats have seen things and know more than they are revealing… thus far.
(By the way, Arthur, brilliant alibi — “I spent the whole evening blogging about shadows, and the data log will prove it.”)
I may have seen him hanging around the shed by the lake.
Yes, I think my alibi is… watertight.
So is it all down to how one interprets the image, then?
Hmm… (a frowning face)
What do you intended to imply with that last picture? Are you blaming the goats??? Shame on you!!!
I’m not going to allow this. I may be far away, but I’ll defend them and prove their innocence. Always.
I’m not accusing anyone.
Yet.
Eliminate those who cannot have done it (because they have an alibi) and those who are left, however unlikely…
You have to ask yourself, who gains from this… disappearance?
I will tell them not to talk if I’m not present.
Or I’ll call a miss-trial.
I think it is fair to say we have already gained by it. At least I will admit to that much.
But I can verify that I have never in my life left the town limits of Königsberg.
Whereas Julia, incommunicado all through the week-end… it would be indelicate to enquire as to her whereabouts, of course… just saying.
(The goats were perhaps meant to throw us off…? The poor great shaggy things — involuntary accessories!)
(By the way, I believe that’s the bluest blue water I’ve ever seen.)
I’m sorry, Tom …you know, my difficulties with English tongue …
Do you mean MY whereabouts or the GOATS’, my clients?
If you meant ME: I have many many people who can declare that I was in three public meetings the last day. A skating competition of my youngest, a family tea party (in-law-family – just women, so it’s much more loable!-) and a birthday party of my best friend at MY house.
Such a good, caring and generous person could never be blamed.
¡He dicho!
I thought it was a more steely blue than the picture, but that might just be the cold. Is Königsberg a reference to Kant or to the famous bridge problem? I should probably know the answer, but I don’t.
We haven’t ruled out a remotely-instigated death, Julia.
You’re not thinking of accusing Cloudy, aren’t you?
Cloudy was unusually bouncy today. She waited outside the front door until I let her inside the house. I’m not ruling anyone out at this stage.
Mmmm. Isn’t that suspicious? I’m not saying anything…
I will only talk to defend my clients, i.e. the goats. The other suspects should look for their own attorneys.
Did you know Antonioni’s film was based on a Cortazar’s story? Yes I’m sure you know… so I’m just distracting the investigation with unessential data
Who’s the victim? Looks like it might be Empty.
Did you know Antonioni’s film was based on a Cortazar’s story?
No, I didn’t. Thanks. I’ll have to try and find it. “Las babas del diablo” or “The Devil’s Drool”. Actually, my favourite of that kind of film is Coppola’s The Conversation.
Nice work, Trond. Let’s hope we hear from him.
Interrogate nature. Interrogate the tits. I definitely suspect the tits.
You have to ask yourself, who gains from this… disappearance?
The blogmaster, for one, because he now has a new topic.
Interrogate nature. Interrogate the tits. I definitely suspect the tits.
Cherchez la femme: is that what you’re getting at, empty ? That gives me an idea. If I remember correctly, the Wicked Witch of the West disappeared by just melting away, leaving only her witch’s habit behind (see photo) and a pair of red shoes. Since the shoes are gone, Crown, I would call the police and have them put up wanted posters for a Judy Garland lookalike.
Is Königsberg a reference to Kant or to the famous bridge problem? I should probably know the answer, but I don’t.
Kant supposedly never left Königsberg.
wanted posters for a Judy Garland lookalike.
Chances are it’s a transvestite. No contemporary woman in her right mind, not even a murderess, would wear such outrageous spinkle-spankle shoes in public.
I’m not so desperate that I need to resort to murder, G.
Kant supposedly never left Königsberg.
He probably couldn’t get off the bridges.
The Pope is fond of red shoes, but he was in Barcelona.
I’m not so desperate that I need to resort to murder
I wasn’t suggesting that. You asked “who gains ?”, not “who has a motive ?”. Even the police gain, because they now have something important to do.
Do you know the German saying: Wenn zwei sich streiten, freut sich der Dritte” ? [Whenever two persons are at loggerheads, a third person profits]
I used to have a great pair of red leather shoes that I bought (at a market) in Italy. You’re thinking of the wrong sartorial orientation.
But they were not covered in sequins, I trust ?
Maybe you should watch the film again, at least up to the point where the red-and-white-striped socks curl up (or were they purple-and-white ?).
The missing red shoes were covered with sequins? I didn’t know that.
No, I get awfully bored watching The Wizard of Oz. I only really like the black & white beginning with the woman on the bicycle.
That’s what I meant by “spinkle-spankle”. I assume the director got that effect by using sequins, or little bits of colored glass that reflected light.
But the woman on the bicycle turns out to be the Wicked Witch of the West !!! Just watch for 5 minutes more to see the shoes, then you can return the film to the videothek. It is pretty boring, I have to admit. But it’s an important cultural artefact that one has to know about, and casually indicate knowledge of – just like one has to know the real significance of ceci n’est pas une pipe.
significance of
“Interrogate the tits” is the exhortation of a short man, but I happen to know Ø is quite tall.
For Pete’s sake: significance of ceci n’est pas une pipe
Talking of which, Julia has some words to say about ceci n’est pas une fraise.
By “tit” I meant the bird. I would have thought that that was clear enough.
No, I’ll be honest, I used the word because it is titillating. I hope that this brands me not as a misogynist but merely as as someone who never quote outgrew adolescent humor.
Now, about the case at hand: I like the Oz angle. I had been tantalized by the memory of a dead body disappearing, leaving empty clothes. Maybe I was thinking of one of the witches. We should distinguish between the Wicked Witch of the East, who is squashed by Dorothy’s house early in the tale and, I believe, then curls up out of sight, striped leggings and all, leaving only the red shoes, and her sister the Wicked Witch of the West, who is vanquished much later by water (“I’m melting …”) and leaves all her clothes in a heap. Dorothy still has the shoes at that point; this is when she acquires the broom.
Oh, what a relief when I first read all your conversation just a minute ago, I fear Grumbly was referring to me (arrogant presumption on my part, of course) and he was saying I didn’t understand well Magrite’s statement.
Perhaps I don’t, anyway…
Cortazar’s short story is called “Las babas del diablo”, they publish it in English after the film with its title “BlowUp”. The original title means “The Devil’s Drool”. I could’t find an on line version to show it to you.
quite
Although maybe I never quote outgrew adolescent humor either, whatever that means. I know that I, too, have never left Königsberg.
Nobody ever leaves Königsberg, at least not on the same side of the river they came in. På samme Kant, mener jeg.
What’s the policy here? Is it OK with tits as long as they’re great?
You’re a bad guide but a perfect host, AJP.
Occam’s razor is a typical product of the Alps, where the horizons are forever cut off by some mountain or other and people take great pride in being able to see no further than Oberdummkopfstein on a clear day. Other imaginative possibilities? Big-city nonsense and probably a plot by Protestants, Jews, Turks, Prussians, devil worshippers and certain elements in the next valley to bamboozle honest, God-fearing folk.
So of course they’d rule out spontaneous combustion…
I fear Grumbly was referring to me (arrogant presumption on my part, of course) and he was saying I didn’t understand well Magritte’s statement.
No no, Julia !! It was I who realized just this year that I was the only person in the world who hadn’t thought about the painting. Sabe, it shows a pipe and the text ceci n’est pas une pipe. I think that in the past I had only wondered briefly why that text appeared in the painting, since it was clearly wrong: the painting does show a pipe !? Then my realization: the painting does not show a pipe, but a picture of a pipe !! And a picture of a pipe is not a pipe !! But is a pipe a pipe, or is it a “mental image” of a pipe ? Does “mental image” make any more sense than “picture” ? Also, what does ceci mean ? If it means “this sentence”, then it is true that “this sentence is not a pipe”. But the painting contains not a sentence, but a picture of a sentence !! Can a painting make a statement at all ?? Etc etc
I didn’t know, until Crown mentioned in a few comments later here, that you had a new post about fraises not being fraises.
The Wicked Witch of the West sounds like a possible case of spontaneous human combustion. There were no ashes at this site, only some frost.
Here in Königsberg we see no reason ever to leave.
Here the beautiful little tits are always singing beneath the starry sky.
But of course they are not actually tits and the sky actually has no stars.
And for that matter…
Esta no es una pipa.
I understand that Spontaneous Combustion can be quite painful.
Which is why Wicked Witches ought always to be wearing asbestos oven-mitts.
Sorry, that link was so long it seems to have spontaneously combusted.
You could say this is the perfect crime. There’s no body, no perpetrator, only evidence and investigation.
The crime rate in Königsberg (or should I say Kønigsberg?) is abnormally low because you couldn’t leave even if you wanted to. There’s nowhere to hide.
If you’re wondering what Kant sounded like, the accent can be heard here, apropos the curious case of the fake Mahler symphony.
> Grumbly, as I said, that’s a relief. And thanks for answer :-)
>AJP I admit it is a perfect crime… as long as my clients are free of suspicion
I like what he does with his teeth at “das lebendige” 2:00. So that accent is from Ostpreussen? It’s very easy to understand, if you’re me.
Julia, unofficially they’re off the hook for the moment, but anything might happen.
It’s refained. The more robust example older people will quote is, ‘Marjellchen, hast dich beklackert mit’s Jelbe von’s Äi’ — ‘Nej Mamachen, det is Schnotter.’ (loosely: Marjellchen, you’ve got egg yolk on your blouse — No Mama, that’s a bogey).
That’s Zille.
For our American friends: bogey = booger
Off the subject (like always).-
I don’t know if that exists for humans but here it was (is ?) a serious problem:
http://spainforvisitors.com/module-News-display-sid-315.htm
Oh, thanks Grumbly. I’d been wondering what that was.
We seem to be moving toward cherchez la flamme
How do you say Schnotter in Hochdeutsch?
Rotz.
I had no idea this form of German existed. I don’t suppose there’s a wordsbook.
How do you say Schnotter in Hochdeutsch?
Rotz
We need a bit more precision here, good Principal. When you translate Schnotter to English as “booger”, consistency requires that you upgrade it to Hochdeutsch as Popel.
Schnotter = Rotz = snot
Popel = verdickter Nasenschleim = booger
Crown, the phase states of rhinomucosity have never been clearly defined. They are in flux, just like their substrate. In general Rotz is wetter than Popel. Indeed, Rotzwetter is “nasty weather”.
English also has gollies.
I find no trace of gollies in the OED. Could you explain what they are, without crossing the boundaries of propriety ?
Look in Wiki-dictionary. They call it Australian, but I think it’s originally English. At any rate, I heard it in London when I was a child. (I can’t see what it would have to do with Goliath.)
Gosh, I can’t remember the American expression for that, if there is one. Nor the German expression, if there is one.
“Hack up a golly” must be an indispensable expression, once it is available in one’s own vernacular. “Cough up a wad” ??
I over-egged the phonetic pudding, but there is. The person who wrote the wiki article thinks it’s variety of Low German but seems oddly defensive about it.
You’re right Grumbly, this makes it all too clear.
The link reminds us of the Mukophagie phenomenon (shudder !). I once knew a young guy who indulged in that in an undemonstrative, but very sensuous way. When he started a Lehre as a waiter, I had to drum it into his head that he should not indulge as he stood at a table taking the guests’ orders. He was a good kid, but had grown up in the depths of the Odenwald.
Thanks. I think we can compile a chart.
Not much to eat in the Odenwald? It looks verdant.
Here is a picture of a guy picking his nose. Actually, what he is showing us is the German in der Nase bohren [drilling, reaming]. Im America we have the more delicate “picking”, although actual practice may not differ that much between continents.
There was a Crumb cartoon, the first frame of which showed a mother admonishing her daughter: “You can pick your friends, and you can pick your nose, but you can’t pick your friends’ noses”. In the subsequent frames, the daughter thinks this over, goes outside and runs into her friend Tommy (or whatever). “Tommy, can I pick your nose ?”. Tommy: “Sure, be my guest !”. So she is his guest.
Hahaha.
Booger actually has a long history as a term of endearment, esp.in the abbreviated form Boog, common as a nickname, esp. in The South.
There was a well-known first baseman of the Baltimore Orioles, a half century ago, named Boog Powell.
Both Booger and Boog sport a rich and complex web of historical connotation.
This continually evolves. The list of variant associations just keeps on boogaloo-ing.
Consider for example Boogermeister.
As always with usefully flexible terms there are new combinatory usages of which one had not inkled. For example, Pooger.
However I am reminded by the social hygiene experts that it is flu season and one ought to keep one’s nose, fingers, etc. to oneself.
But really the principal substantive here, in terms of actual use in the contexts assayed hereabove, is probably not Booger but Snot.
(I’ve just noted there appears to be no “unsubscribe” option here… leaving matters to the invisible, colourless, odourless taste test? )
I think the Nissan Moco (booger in Spanish) has had to change its name here obviously.
I’ve just noted there appears to be no “unsubscribe” option here
When you subscribe to a blog thread here, you get a notification email for each new comment on the thread. At the bottom of each email is an “unsubscribe” link.
I saw a film about a composer from (I think) Iceland. He had two daughters, one of whom was called Snót.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MARIE-LUCIE!
Ah, yes, Sergeant, how could I have missed it… at times it’s difficult to make out the fine print, when the glass of the tank gets steamed up.
From deep beneath the cold waters of the other side of the earth, a Very Happy Birthday to Marie-Lucie!
MERCI!
How do you know people’s birthdays, Crown ? Is some kind of astrological network operating here, about whose existence I am to be kept unaware ?
Happy birthday, marie-lucie ! My fingers are itching to compose a bit of celebratory French verse. Unfortunately, the only rhyming words that occur to me offhand in our context are couronne and croûtonne (which I learned from you last year). So clearly I had better put off the poem until such time as my vocabulary is larger and my humour is, shall we say, plus délicat.
The goats tell me, G. — well, that and facebook.
Happy birthday, m-l, from sunny Buenos Aires!
Can the goats be more loveable?
So you all are a bunch of facebook friends…
Many happy returns, Marie-Lucie.
For she’s inabroadersense a jolly good fellow, for she’s a jolly good fellow, for she’s a jolly good fe-hellow — and so say…
>Marie-lucie
« Bon anniversaire ! »
I’ve never set my foot on a Facebook page. But then again, I’m only trespassing the goat-pasture to come close to the famous neighbour.
Only m-l and me. The birthday reminders is the only point I can see to facebook.
(D’Onofrio is my last name if any of you is feeling hospitable in FB)
Happy Birthday, Marie-Lucie!
Um, I’m your FB friend, Crown (sniff). But you’re excused for forgetting, because months can pass without my ever going on FB. I have never thought to activate the birthday reminder feature. I remember when your birthday is, but only because it’s the same as my sister’s. I also know when Grumbly’s birthday is, but I can’t remember how I came by that information.
That’s right, I’m sorry, that was completely wrong. Also Bruessel, Language Hat, John Emerson, Caviar & Codfish and now Julia are my friends.
Thank you, I was just about to leave a self-pitying reminder, in the vein of “I don’t write on your blog for a few days and you’ve forgotten me already”.
Sorry, B. I was totally stressed out trying to get my new phone to work (I still can’t).
I understand what you mean, I can only deal with modern technology in limited doses. A friend of mine is still using a phone with a circular dial, exactly like this: http://www.muenstergass.ch/blog/wp-content/uploads/2009/09/TelefonW%C3%A4hlscheibe.jpg
Ahhh, those were the days! A telephone that you can use without first finding a pair of glasses.
Thank you, merci and gracias for the birthday wishes! When I listed mine on Facebook I just followed what others did, I did not realize I would get so many messages! (you don’t have to “activate” anything, facebook does it for you in the right column, a few days ahead).
For years the only thing that has ever happened on that day is that my daughter phones me (we talk a lot more often than just on birthdays). But this time she and her husband sent me (from the US) a big bunch of flowers, that even came in a vase with water. When she was 5 years old she decided that I should have a birthday party and started decorating the house, so I had to have one (the only time in my whole life).
Telephone: last summer I was going to spend several weeks in California, so I bought a cell phone before leaving Canada, specifying that I needed it to work also in the US. I tested it in the store by calling my daughter and leaving her a message (as I thought – but she said later that she could not hear it). After that the phone never worked, even when I took it to the most highly recommended shop in Berkeley. On my return to Canada I took it back to the store, where it was determined that I had hit the once-in-a-million chance (so they said) that the battery was defective.
Very nice to get flowers in November for us in the northern hemisphere.
If you are the one customer in a million they should give you a special prize (i.e. one that you want).