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|Posted: Fri Mar 23, 2018 7:56 am Post subject: Roundup: Patrick Chung to sign Patriots extension
|So that's the way people talked back then, right? Sentences were full of "thou"s and "thee"s and "ye"s. Go to any Renaissance Fair and you'll find as many "ye"s as leather corsets.
The Y at the beginning of "Ye" isn't actually a Y at all. It's an Old English excuse us, Olde English letter called thorn:
Oh, and it's pronounced "th." So when you read "Ye Olde Dildo Shoppe," you're really reading "The Old Dildo Shop." Now don't you feel stupid for buying old dildos?
So how did we get duped into putting "ye" in front of our 20th century American English pubs? When the printing press first took off in the 15th century, German typesetters were the ones making the letters, and they didn't have a symbol for thorn because, well, they were German, not English. So the first English printers had to improvise with the letters they were given. This included the letter Y, which in the handwritten form looked a lot like thorn."Fuck it, I'm not figuring out how to carve that on a block."
This was fine, since readers of the time knew to pronounce "ye" as "the" because they recognized the intention. But that context got lost over time, for the same reason future historians are going to have no idea why people in our era kept substituting the number 4 in place of "for." And they'll have no idea what to do with something like "Ke$ha."
Here's a fun game: Look up "dinosaurs" on Google Images. Now look up stills from The Land Before Time. OK, now look at dinosaur coloring books. Toys. Garanimals outfits. Bed sheets. Bandaids from the pediatrician's office. Tattoos. Fantasia. Oh, we forgot to tell you to count up how many brontosauruses you saw. Trust us when we say "dozens."
Here's what happened: Back in the 1870s there was a massive rush to find and assemble dinosaur bones. The first person to find a new dinosaur fossil would get to name it, after all, and who wants to miss their chance to find history's first Orgasmosaurus? There were two bone hunters in particular who had a kind of Sosa/McGwire thing going on, minus the juicing (we assume). In 1877, Othniel C. Marsh found the skeleton of a leaf eating, long necked, long tailed dinosaur. He was just missing the head, so he substituted a different dinosaur's head to complete the picture. He named his find "apatosaurus" Greek for "deceptive lizard" apparently implying that the lying bastard had intentionally fossilized itself with the wrong head.
"In a few million years, this is gonna be hilarious."
Meanwhile, Marsh's fellow paleontologist Edward Cope was making his own discoveries. But instead of encouraging one another with a gentle but friendly rivalry, the two used spies and thugs to sabotage each other. When Marsh found another long necked specimen two years later, he was so paranoid that Cope would get to it first that he hurried up and named it "brontosaurus." This one had more bones and actually got mounted, but not in a sexual way, in the Yale Peabody Museum of Natural History.
What Marsh didn't understand was that he hadn't found a new species at all he had found another apatosaurus, just one with the correct head (it also had extra pelvic vertebrae, but that was because it was younger than the specimen the last guy had found). So there never was a separate dinosaur called brontosaurus: It was just a screwup by a paleontologist. Even stranger, scientists figured this out as early as 1903, but the "brontosaurus" made it to a museum first, so we've been calling it that ever since.
Paleontologists weren't as diligent back then, but they were way more heavily armed.
If you're not familiar with the Hanging Gardens or why they were a big deal, just imagine if a section of Central Park was 80 feet above ground. We're not just talking about the riding paths and urine soaked vagrants, but every tree you can imagine, flower beds, and statues all of it up in the air, supported by stone columns.
The story goes that, deep in the deserts of what is now Iraq, King Nebuchadnezzar II's wife was homesick for the lush foliage of her homeland, so Neb commissioned an elaborate terraced pleasure garden for her benefit. And while, say, the pyramids were just a one time deal, the Hanging Gardens would have been a sprawling, ongoing project requiring engineering knowledge that surpassed everything else at the time you're trying to keep water flowing to all of these tiers of suspended foliage in the middle of the freaking desert.
"Sand can eat our Mesopotamian dicks."
There are no records of the Hanging Gardens having existed at Babylon. Experts today believe that the myth of the Hanging Gardens was perpetuated by soldiers returning to Greece from Babylon. They told exaggerated tales of the things they saw Babylon did have some sweet buildings, and the land was more fertile back then and in turn the ancient historians made those descriptions even more fanciful, until we had a Wonder of the Ancient World on our hands.
"Yeah, this shit'll never do. Needs way more plants.
Let's give credit where credit is due. Maybe we spent the turn of the millennium freaking out over our computers and hoarding bottled water and canned goods and mechanical can openers, but at least we didn't go nuts like some people. After all, as the news media tells us, these millennial freakouts happen every thousand years. You may have heard during the Y2K panic that back in the year 999, the Christian faithful were so sure cheap jerseys that Jesus was returning that they prayed obsessively, forgave debts, gave all their possessions away, pardoned criminals, and stopped tending their fields. Some even flocked to Jerusalem in anticipation of the return of Christ.
With all this hype, we'll be lucky if it isn't a bigger disappointment than the Star Wars prequels.
So while a few crazies today obsessively prepare for the apocalypse, we're not exactly shutting everything down in a blind panic as a society. Not like those dipshits back then.
European Christians were too busy with the day to day business of not starving to death to get caught up cheap jerseys in an apocalypse prepping panic. For one thing, they could barely agree on which year it was, so it's kind of hard to get worked up over the next round number on the calendar when you thought the fatal day had already passed a few years ago. For another, these people were always anticipating the return of Christ. It was kind of their thing, ever since John scribbled down some incoherent ramblings about horsemen of the apocalypse and a whore of Babylon.
His motivation is lost to time.
Which is why historians have been dismissing the notion of widespread panic at the last turn of the millennium for more than a hundred years now. No one went crazy. No one flocked to Jerusalem. People just went about their ordinary business of being dirty and hungry, maybe with an occasional look to the sky, just in case.
What's really interesting is how the rumors of collective millennial shit losing got started in the first place. The stories actually began in 1605 when a Catholic cardinal mentioned the panic in his history of the church. Protestants later used the stories as evidence of cheap authentic detroit lions jerseys how unenlightened and superstitious Catholics were. Finally, a politically motivated 19th century French historian embellished the accounts as a final indictment against the church. By the time he was done with the first millennial scare, a retroactive mass hysteria had seized all of religious Europe. We almost wish we could be here in a thousand years to see what our ancestors have to say about our handling of the year 2000."It's probably a good thing the robo syphilis outbreak of 2016 killed most of 'em."