As I mentioned in my follow-up comment, it turns out that the text wasn’t the work of Ursula K Le Guin as I’d originally thought. Oops. It’s actually a document related to the fantasy universe of Danny, the guy who developed the script. I hope to have more details about that soon.

dario says he’ll eventually post “an analysis of this fascinating script and a report of how I arrived at the solution”. Meanwhile, I’ll be organising a suitable prize for him. Stay tuned.

I’ll close comments on this post. Please feel free to continue the conversation over at the original post.

If the video isn’t working here for you, click through to YouTube.

May I also recommend Excellence in European Linguistics, Kingsgrove and Multiply Function Pot?

After another gap of more that six month, my Script Challenge is being tackled by a couple more people.

Can you figure out what’s said by this unknown piece of writing?

It’s a quote from a novel by Ursula LeGuin.

Feeling clever? After all, it’s been four years and now at least eight people have tried — but none have succeeded, despite the many clues. I’ve added three more clues just now.

[I'll close off comments on this post so that all the discussion stays with the original article.]

If there’s one thing funnier than a prescriptivist, it’s a prescriptivist who’s clearly wrong yet doesn’t know it. I was therefore giggling as soon as I saw Neil tweet about my spelling of “jail”.

Either @stilgherrian has been transported to America, or I really am the only person who spells gaol correctly here (along with @jbugs14)

“Correctly”, eh? Hilarious, Neil.

Dictionaries record language as it is actually used, not as those with a dangerous little knowledge imagine it is used. Both the Macquarie Dictionary and the Oxford English Dictionary list “jail” as the primary spelling. And as Google’s Ngram shows, “jail” started to be used more often than “gaol” some time in the 1830s, at least in the totality of English.

The OED does record “gaol” as a second spelling in the entry’s head, but the Macquarie does not. Instead, it adds this note:

Usage: In general the spelling of this word has shifted in Australian English from gaol to jail. However, gaol remains fossilised in the names of jails, as Parramatta Gaol, and in some government usage.

Fossilised. See that?

According to the Oxford English Dictionary, consulted online just now:

In British official use the forms with G are still current; in literary and journalistic use both the G and the J forms are now admitted as correct; in the U.S. the J forms are standard.

Looking through the OED’s citations, we see “Iaiole” dated to ca1300, “Iayle” to ca1440, “Iaile” to ca1660 and some bloke called Shakespeare, “jayl” to 1743–5 and good ol’ “jail” to 1860. Of course that last citation is R W Emerson, an American, so presumably Neil thinks that doesn’t count. But even if we imagine Australian English is derived only from British English — something that’s patently untrue — we still have precursors of the J form going back a mere 700 years.

“When spelling, I prefer The Queen’s English,” tweets Neil. Yeah? Which Queen? Elizabeth I?

I’ve nothing against people choosing to use different forms of language. Far from it. It adds colour, spice, variety. But that’s not the same as imagining that an older form is somehow “right” and newer forms “wrong”. Especially when your views are at odds with the vast majority of the language’s native speakers.

Just how far do you want to go back and freeze our language — or should I say “fossizlise” it — before it’s acceptable, Neil? A hint: When you’re “the only person” who thinks something is right, you’re probably not.

[Update 4.15pm: Google Ngram image added, with explanatory sentence. The graph showing all English usage is slightly misleading. Restricted to British English only, the "jail" form has been the more popular "only" since the 1940s. I'll post a further update in due course.]

I’ve just read an article which used “problematised” as a verb. Apart from causing me to stumble and have to re-read the whole sentence, this uncommon word illustrates perfectly the problem with so much “educated” writing. And with journalism.

Discussing this on Twitter earlier this afternoon, I said I’d save the writer from further embarrassment. And the editor. But I’ve changed my mind, because I’m going to pull them into this conversation.

The author is Jeff Sparrow. The editing is by newmatilda.com. And the article is certainly something I’m interested in understanding: The Golden Age Of Publishing is an essay on the challenges facing publishers as we move into the digital era.

Here’s the whole paragraph:

That’s why the glory days of the press coincided with the long boom after the Second World War, a time of relative economic and social stability, in which Keynesianism explicitly validated public works and the public sphere. Since then, however, the turn back to marketisation that reached its zenith with neo-liberalism has problematised, more and more explicitly, the very notion of a public. In the idealised free market, there is, as Margaret Thatcher famously explained, no such thing as society — there’s simply an aggregation of competing individuals. In the midst of that fragmentation, the old newspaper model no longer makes sense.

“Problematised”? I’d never seen the word before! I thought it might mean “position as a problem” or something like “assert it’s a problem rather than a benefit”. But no.

So what the hell is this about?

The Macquarie Dictionary tells me:

problematise (say ‘probluhmuhtuyz)
verb (t) (problematised, problematising) to expose and analyse problems in (something previously assumed to be without problems): to problematise the current assumptions.

So that core phrase about problematising the notion of the public — and I feel dirty even typing that! — might perhaps go something like this:

But since then we’ve turned back to the market as our solution [saviour?], a process that reached its peak in neo-liberalism. This process has, ever more explicitly, exposed problems with the very notion of a unified “public” that we hadn’t realised before.

Now I don’t know whether that gets the emphasis right. If I were the editor, I’d run those suggested changes past the author to make sure we’re conveying the right nuances.

But that’s the problem. I’m a well-read, intelligent middle-aged person with a tertiary education and a keen interest in the subject matter. If I can’t be sure I’ve understood the author’s intent, then what chance does anyone else have?

Who are the author and editor at newmatilda.com expecting to communicate with?

I think there’s two issues here: assumed cultural literacy, and the role of the writer.

The concept of cultural literacy was coined or at least promoted by E D Hirsch Jr. As Wikipedia puts it:

Cultural literacy is the ability to converse fluently in the idioms, allusions and informal content which creates and constitutes a dominant culture. From being familiar with street signs to knowing historical references to understanding the most recent slang, literacy demands interaction with the culture and reflection of it.

Take a daily newspaper. To be culturally literate — and this is my rough paraphrase — you need to understand all of the words and phrases used in the front-page stories that are presented without explanation.

Let’s say there’s a story about the Prime Minister reshuffling the front bench. You need to know that “front bench” means the cabinet, and that the cabinet consists of the government’s ministers. You need to know the power relationship between PM and cabinet. You need to know that cabinet positions are often granted as rewards for service rather than being based on competence. None of this is explained in the story. It’s assumed you’ll already know.

If it’s a story about the Bombers, it’s assumed you already know that that’s the nickname of the Essendon Football Club in Melbourne, and that they’re an Australian Rules Football team rather than part of the Australian Rugby League. Indeed, the abbreviation “AFL” will be used without explanation, as will team members’ nicknames and various aspects of the game’s rules.

And yet most people are excluded from the political story because they don’t know the nuances. As I’ve written elsewhere:

Most people couldn’t identify a front bench, government or opposition. Most don’t even know what a front bench is. In the late 1980s I did a vox pop in Adelaide’s Rundle Mall for ABC Radio. The question: “There’s just been a state cabinet reshuffle. Can you name any cabinet members, old or new?” 80% didn’t know what a “cabinet” was. “Oh like John Howard, you mean?” asked one. Well, kinda. Just a different parliament and (then) a different side.

And I’d be excluded from the football story. I just had to look up “Bombers” to see which club that is. Sports journalists are particularly bad at understanding cultural literacy issues. If you’re not already into a sport, where do you start? Because the news stories give you no clues.

In just that single paragraph of the newmatilda.com story, “Keynesianism” is presented as a given, and “zenith” is used rather than the everyday “peak”.

I studied computing science and linguistics, not economics or media studies. I know that Keynes was an important economist because… something. But give me a chance! At least give me a sentence or two explaining his views of the “public” in the context of what you’re trying to explain to me.

My point here is about communicating clearly with your audience. What is newmatilda.com’s intended audience? Only people with a post-graduate education who already know that “problematised” has a particular meaning in post-grad analysis? That’s perfectly fine, but it seriously reduces the size of your audience — with obvious implications for your potential revenue.

I’d argue that there’s plenty of people interested in the history and future of the media, but only a small proportion of them are media studies or sociology post-grads.

My second point is that it’s the writer’s job to write clearly for their audience.

On Twitter, Barry Saunders said — and I’ll turn a series of tweets into prose — “Having spent time writing as an academic as well as for general audience, some words can’t be simplified. Sometimes you should just crack out a dictionary. If you understand the word ‘problematic’ [then 'problematised' is] really not a stretch.”

Sure. Sometimes there really is no alternative to a specialist’s specific jargon word. So when you use it, explain it. Or link to a definition. But if there is an everyday alternative, use it! Even if it takes a few more words or a re-phrasing.

In this case, though, I don’t think the specialist meaning of “problematised” is quite so obvious. Well-educated me got it wrong first time around. Surely I’m not alone.

Every reader who stumbles over a meaning… Every reader who makes a mistake in interpretation because they didn’t know a word’s special meaning in the special context… Every reader who’s forced to go to a dictionary or, more likely, doesn’t bother… Every one of them represents a failure of communication.

Every failure of communication is a failure of the writer, and of their editor whose job it is to massage the writer’s words for the audience.

[Photo: 135.365 Academics by Reilly Butler, used under a Creative Commons Attribution license.]

I was particularly pleased to see fellow misanthropist Jason Langenauer (pictured) produce a nastily whimsical alphabet on Twitter last night. I thought it deserved to be recorded for posterity. And here it is.

A is for Arsehat.
B is for Bastard.
C is for Coprophile.
E is for Eris.
F is for Filth.
G is for Gauleiter.
H is for Herpes.
I is for Ignominy.
Oh yes, one can’t start a tweet with a capital D. D is for Degenerate.
Now, where was I?
J is for Jesus.
K is for Kristallnacht.
L is for Lubricant.
N is for Nudism.
O is for Orifice.
P is for Pistol.
Q is irrelevant, and I shan’t have anything to do with it.
R is for Rotten.
S is for Sodomy.
T is for Tammany Hall.
U is for Uvula.
(No, that’s not what a uvula is. You people are sick. Go look it up on Wikipedia.)
V is for Vulgar.
W is for Wastrel.

And that’s as far as he got. However for the sake of completeness he has this afternoon added the following:

X is for Xenophilia.
Y is for Yes-man.
Z is for Zarathustra.

I can’t help but think this should be illustrated by Edward Gorey, in the style of The Gashlycrumb Tinies.

[Update 4pm: Jason writes: I have just noticed I've left out M from my alphabet. Oh well. I never liked it much anyway.]

Has anyone ever explored the apparent lack of overlap between short story titles and rock band names? I mean, is there any doubt which category e.g. “The pit and the pendulum”, “A perfect day for bananafish”, “REO Speedwagon”, and “Neutral Milk Hotel” belong to?

I think Mark Liberman may be on to something here. Perhaps we need to test this theory, using something similar to Steak House or Gay Bar? or a gamed-up version of the rather awesome Lesbians Who Look Like Justin Bieber.

Perhaps I shouldn’t be thinking so early in the morning…

The key IT buzzwords for 2010 seem to be “cloud computing” and “virtualisation”, but is cloud really right for your business?

Will it provide a cheaper, more flexible option? Or can companies not afford to store data and run applications outside their business?

In a program recorded at the annual Kickstart Forum on IT trends, I spoke with Rosemary Stark, Microsoft Australia product manager for Windows Server and infrastructure solutions and Craig Deveson, CEO of Devnet, one of Google’s enterprise and web development partners.

Meanwhile, Michael Rich, managing director of Attaché Software, explains why he thinks IT vendors have got it wrong by attempting to sell products instead of providing business value.

You can listen below. But it’s probably better for my stats if you listen at ZDNet Australia or subscribe to the RSS feed or subscribe in iTunes.

Please let me know what you think. We accept audio comments too. Either Skype to stilgherrian or phone Sydney +61 2 8011 3733.

“There needs to be a special word for the combination of a cheap fake tan and fat thighs.”

I expressed that view on Twitter early this evening. Thanks to @SophieAG I now know there’s already such a word: Snooki.

This class act’s name is Nicole Polizzi (pictured), though she goes by the nickname “Snooki” and “stars” in an MTV reality TV program called Jersey Shore.

Watching the trailer tells you everything you need to know.

According to The Hollywood Gossip:

She fake-tans and acts like a bit of a skank. Then again that sums up the whole cast, so what are you really gonna do. That’s just what she does…

Nicole has made headlines already … for having brown skin. Like for real brown. Not tanned, like she’s been rolling in the mud or something. Yech.

Apparently Snooki is such a shank that advertisers have pulled out of the series.

Snooki’s response?

“I just have one thing to say to Domino’s, Dell, UNICO and all the other haters out there: Fuck you! If you don’t want to watch, then don’t watch.”

Snooki added: “Just shut the hell up! I’m serious… Fuck you!”

…

UNICO, the Italian-American organisation that claims the show perpetuates negative stereotypes, plans to keep pressuring sponsors to boycott the show.

“She is not an embarrassment to Italian Americans. She is actually an embarrassment to the entire human race!!!!” UNICO said of Snooki in a statement.

Apparently Snooki’s idea of the ideal man is the Guido stereotype.

Given the monumental appropriateness of naming an entire sub-class of humanity after this woman — and I do mean sub-class — other suggestion faded in comparison.

That said, I should give a hat-tip to those who took the time to suggest alternative words.

• Fugly from Mandy Cameron, skank says Dave Kerridge and fries says Paul Green. Sadly, I think they’re a bit too generic — though I do like the pun in “fries”. I was after something specific.
• Goldcoast drumstick and Miami mumble from @jplonie.
• Jersey whore from @thewinchesterau. Can someone fill me in on why New Jersey in particular?
• Basted, says Blair Martin.
• Orangacelulitis from @thegrenville.
• Orange wobble from Johanna Baker-Dowdell and orange peel from Lizzie P.
• Broadmeadows from Warwick Rendell. I do like the local Melbourne touch there.
• Chicken tikka from Stephen Owen. Yeah, but I’m not sure the Indian reference works?
• Continuing the Indian theme, though, 2 serves of Tandoori take away? As in ‘Take it away! Take it away!’ suggests @xutraa.
• Apricot chicken (drumsticks) reckons Andrew Nicholson.
• Smoked Pork Thigh says Bruce Everett.
• Orange roughy says Jason W Ryan. Sure, but what about the Space Vixen Deputy Prime Minister?

Thank you, all,but Snooki really does win out here I think.

An awful lot of these are food references. Can anyone explain that?

After two years of sitting online unchallenged, my Script Challenge is finally being tackled by a couple of people.

Can you figure out what’s said by this unknown piece of writing?

It’s a quote from a novel by Ursula LeGuin.

Bob Bain and Jason Langenauer started having a go across the weekend, and a high school English teacher said he might show it to his class. So, no more clues for now — except to say that people are missing one very important point about alphabets.

[I'll close off comments on this post so that all the discussion stays with the original article.]

The poems are based on an original by William Carlos Williams, called This Is Just To Say. In an episode of This American Life entitled Mistakes Were Made, program contributors created their own versions.

My favourite is the trio by Shalom Auslander:

1
I’m sorry you’re overweight
And drinking
And feeling like everything
In your life
Is doomed to failure
But this is probably why
Mom said
I was her favorite

2
It sucks, little doe
That I hit you
with my car

But at least
You weren’t alive
To watch the hunters
Shoot your children

3
He was a troublemaker, okay
And didn’t know when
To shut up

Still
We never would have killed him
If we’d known he was the Lord

There’s not much poetry here. Should there be more?

Imagine this. You’ve just won a contract worth a billion dollars against stiff competition. How do you feel? Thrilled? At least, you know, a little bit pleased with yourself? Apparently not.

“The Commonwealth Bank is embarking on a significant transformation project and we are delighted to be a key partner. Through Telstra’s own transformation we have invested in world class networks and services and alliances with leading partners. We look forward to bringing these advances to the partnership to offer real benefits to the group, its customers and staff,” David Thodey [pictured left], Telstra’s group managing director enterprise and government said in a statement.

What bullshit!

Australia’s biggest telco Telstra just signed a 10-year deal to provide telecommunications and managed services to Australia’s biggest bank, the Commonwealth. The deal’s worth $100M a year. There’s bound to be some fascinating details which make this all very special. If nothing else, it’s worth a shitload of money — and that’s something to get excited about.

That paragraph of meaningless management wafflespeak is the reaction? There’s not a single fucking concrete noun in the damn thing!

Got any words of thanks for the hard-working staff who helped you win this deal, David? No.

Things aren’t any better on the Commonwealth’s side.

“Our arrangement with Telstra is a partnership which is directly focused on customer satisfaction through well-defined shared goals, commitments and business outcomes. This is the first time we have struck a deal of this kind,” the Commonwealth Bank’s CIO Michael Harte [pictured right] said in a statement.

Well of course the deal is focussed on customer satisfaction! You don’t set up deals to create dissatisfied customers, do you? Why not tell us why Telstra won? I think they’d have liked that.

Now I blame neither David Thodey nor Michael Harte for this idiotic language. I assume they have highly-paid corporate communications specialists to handle this sort of thing.

Those people should be shot.

This is probably one of the biggest business deals around this week, yet they’ve managed to drain every possible speck of colour and life from it — in the process portraying their bosses as drab, emotionless cyphers.

Read the full Telstra media release [PDF] for yourself. It’s pathetic. And the Commonwealth hasn’t even managed to get its version online yet.

Dear PR Droids, if you can’t manage to communicate the excitement of a billion-dollar deal between two of the nation’s most important corporations, then piss off out of it and clear your desk for someone who can.

Unfortunately he’s been saying it for years too, so maybe I got it from him and then forgot.

Anyway, in Writing Style for Print vs Web he says:

I’ve spent many columns explicating the differences between the Web and television, which can be summarized as lean-forward vs. lean-back:

• On the Web, users are engaged and want to go places and get things done. The Web is an active medium.
• While watching TV, viewers want to be entertained. They are in relaxation mode and vegging out; they don’t want to make choices. TV is a passive medium.

This doesn’t mean that you can’t have entertaining websites or informative TV shows. But it does mean that the two media’s contrasting styles require different approaches to entertainment and education.

The differences between print and the Web may not seem as strong, but to achieve optimal results, each requires a distinct content style.

The very useful article then gives examples and good advice before spruiking his $1000+ per day seminars.

Nielsen is a smart man — though he isn’t always right on everything, as some of his fans believe. Still, if you’re considering the audience’s needs (and shouldn’t you always be doing that?) he’s spot on.

Of course I’m a complete hypocrite, because some of my posts have 1000 words of straight text. Rules were made to be broken.

Swan was explaining that unlike his Liberal predecessor Peter Costello’s Future Fund, which was never spent on anything, Labor’s future funds would be spent on “contemporary” infrastructure needs. Journalist Mark Colvin asked how they could still be called future funds.

MARK COLVIN: I mean, if they’re not for the future, what are they for? Why aren’t they just government spending?

WAYNE SWAN: No, no. You’re confusing the name Future Fund with a fund for the future.

Yes, I can see how he’d be confused…

[Update 10.30am: Here's the relevant piece of audio.]