Link to a funny; plus quotes
I dug around my archives and found some book quotes. Also a funny Penny Arcade link.
Link (contains swearing, but who cares): http://www.penny-arcade.com/comic/2005/01/28
Quotes:
"The old man and I sat in the dust of the bazaar, our backs against a whitewashed wall, hiding from the sun in what little shade we could find. Radio Beijing blared from a loudspeaker on a pole nearby, unheeded by the people around us. Like my companion and 95 percent of the people in Turpan, this little oasis town in the Takla Makan Desert in China's far western borderlands, they were Uygurs. Hawk-nosed with slated eyes and tawny complexions, they spoke a kind of Turkic and very little Chinese. When they talked about their Chinese colonial overlords they spat with contempt and used words like "hate" and "kill."
To pass the time, the old man and I tried to make conversation using the few Chinese words we each could command.
'So you're Japanese,' he declared.
'No, I'm American,' I answered.
'What's that?' he asked. Aside from the radio playing overhead, there was no local means of learning about the outside world. No Uygur language radio, no television, no newspaper. Few outside visitors except for Chinese bureaucrats. No way of knowing about the United States, or much else outside Turpan.
I tried to describe my country to the gentleman. He wasn't buying it. No place like that existed, as far as he was concerned.
He knew about three kinds of people. There were people -- that is, Uygurs of many tribes and lineages. There were Chinese, the hated colonizers, and, as it turned out, there were Japanese. Every two weeks a minibus brought about a dozen Japanese tourists to Turpan. Outsiders, in this man's worldview, people who were neither Uygur nor Chinese were ipso facto Japanese. A White American like me was Japanese.
I expect that things have changed a lot in Turpan since that hot spring day in 1989. Probably today I would not be labeled Japanese. But that day I was not mistaken for Japanese; I was Japanese, in the language of the Turpan racial system of that time."
from Race and Nation, Identity and Power: thinking comparatively about ethnic systems, by Paul Spickard.
I don't know what book this is or if I'd posted it before, a letter from Dwight D. Eisenhower or someone to some dude who got elected to something:
"Dear Harold, The purpose of this note is to welcome you to your new headaches. The only real fun you will have is to see just how far you can keep on going with everybody chopping at you with every conceivable kind of weapon. Knowing you so long and well I predict that your journey will be a great one. But you must remember the old adage, 'Now abideth faith, hope, and charity -- and greater than these is a sense of humor.'"
Here is what I copied out of another book's Acknowledgments page:
"I am indebted to my husband, Mike, for his love, support, and good humor. He has learned more about medieval German culture than any mathematician should have to. I dedicate this book to him. I am also grateful to my parents and my brother, who have stopped asking me when my book is going to appear but continue to support me in all my endeavors. Finally, although he will never read this, I would like to mention my beloved cat, Grendel, whose reliable companionship made the solitary hours spent in front of my computer at home much more pleasant."
Reading the medieval book : word, image, and performance in Wolfram von Eschenbach's Willehalm.
Link (contains swearing, but who cares): http://www.penny-arcade.com/comic/2005/01/28
Quotes:
"The old man and I sat in the dust of the bazaar, our backs against a whitewashed wall, hiding from the sun in what little shade we could find. Radio Beijing blared from a loudspeaker on a pole nearby, unheeded by the people around us. Like my companion and 95 percent of the people in Turpan, this little oasis town in the Takla Makan Desert in China's far western borderlands, they were Uygurs. Hawk-nosed with slated eyes and tawny complexions, they spoke a kind of Turkic and very little Chinese. When they talked about their Chinese colonial overlords they spat with contempt and used words like "hate" and "kill."
To pass the time, the old man and I tried to make conversation using the few Chinese words we each could command.
'So you're Japanese,' he declared.
'No, I'm American,' I answered.
'What's that?' he asked. Aside from the radio playing overhead, there was no local means of learning about the outside world. No Uygur language radio, no television, no newspaper. Few outside visitors except for Chinese bureaucrats. No way of knowing about the United States, or much else outside Turpan.
I tried to describe my country to the gentleman. He wasn't buying it. No place like that existed, as far as he was concerned.
He knew about three kinds of people. There were people -- that is, Uygurs of many tribes and lineages. There were Chinese, the hated colonizers, and, as it turned out, there were Japanese. Every two weeks a minibus brought about a dozen Japanese tourists to Turpan. Outsiders, in this man's worldview, people who were neither Uygur nor Chinese were ipso facto Japanese. A White American like me was Japanese.
I expect that things have changed a lot in Turpan since that hot spring day in 1989. Probably today I would not be labeled Japanese. But that day I was not mistaken for Japanese; I was Japanese, in the language of the Turpan racial system of that time."
from Race and Nation, Identity and Power: thinking comparatively about ethnic systems, by Paul Spickard.
I don't know what book this is or if I'd posted it before, a letter from Dwight D. Eisenhower or someone to some dude who got elected to something:
"Dear Harold, The purpose of this note is to welcome you to your new headaches. The only real fun you will have is to see just how far you can keep on going with everybody chopping at you with every conceivable kind of weapon. Knowing you so long and well I predict that your journey will be a great one. But you must remember the old adage, 'Now abideth faith, hope, and charity -- and greater than these is a sense of humor.'"
Here is what I copied out of another book's Acknowledgments page:
"I am indebted to my husband, Mike, for his love, support, and good humor. He has learned more about medieval German culture than any mathematician should have to. I dedicate this book to him. I am also grateful to my parents and my brother, who have stopped asking me when my book is going to appear but continue to support me in all my endeavors. Finally, although he will never read this, I would like to mention my beloved cat, Grendel, whose reliable companionship made the solitary hours spent in front of my computer at home much more pleasant."
Reading the medieval book : word, image, and performance in Wolfram von Eschenbach's Willehalm.