Posts by Dr. Boli
LAST POEMS BY JANE GREER.
Nearly a Caress is made up of the poems Jane had been gathering for her fourth collection—the third in her late-life creative burst. It may be odd to say that someone died too young when she exceeded her allotted threescore and ten, but these poems make it obvious that the poet was always refining her art, and she would have kept refining it and astonished us with next year’s poems.
Two things set Jane Greer apart from the usual run of current poets.
The first is that she made adroit use of meter and rhyme: she knew not just how they worked, but what they meant. Some critics have compared her to Robert Frost, but to this critic’s ears her meters and rhymes are more interesting, and more surprising, than Frost’s. Would Frost have written a perfect triolet? If he did write a perfect triolet, would his first line be “The triolet is such a bore”?
The second is that she was religious in a way that seems unique in our modern world. She was religious the way King David was religious: she fought with God and sometimes berated him, the way a child fights with a parent, because real children of God can do that. Any hypocrite can praise God; you have to be a real believer to call God a big meanie.
We should add that Jane Greer could be ferociously funny. Her sense of humor may seem gentle sometimes, but that is the lion toying with its prey. When she is gentle, you may be sure that she is about to turn your life upside-down, or at least make you examine your conscience thoroughly.
So here are the last poems by Jane Greer—and yet we cherish the hope that, just possibly, they may not be the last. She left at least two haikus and one original epigram in comments on this site. If she dribbled out poetry wherever she went, how many poems by Jane Greer are waiting to be discovered and collected?
Order Nearly a Caress direct from the publisher, or find it at Amazon.
And for the curious, the original epigram on this site by Jane Greer was in response to this definition from Dr. Boli’s Unabridged Dictionary:
Dark Ages (proper noun).—In Western European history, a time of barbarous ignorance, superstition, and brutality that succeeded the civilized ignorance, superstition, and brutality of the Roman Empire.
Jane’s response:
And ah! for that golden Roman time
that was civilized, brutish, well-lit, sublime.
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FROM THE ILLUSTRATED EDITION.
HOW YOUR LANGUAGE LOOKS TO ALIEN BEINGS.
The art all had a consistent style—homey neorealism with crusty brushstrokes meant to suggest that it had been done by a good amateur painter. It worked well for the subject—except that many of the images were meant to represent documents or other things with words on them, and that was where the art became strangely and unintentionally surreal. Bot artists still have a lot of trouble with words.
That seems strange, because AI has become very good at optical character recognition. It is the one thing Dr. Boli regularly uses AI to accomplish: the bots can read a page written on a hundred-year-old typewriter and transcribe it without a single mistake.
But when the traffic is going in the other direction—when the bot has to make words, not by generating Unicode characters, but by actually drawing pictures of letters—then the results are comically inept.

It appears that our videographer has edited some of these images to make the primary phrase correct, but otherwise he has let the AI bot give us its impression of what English looks like. And its impression is very impressionistic. It is not just that the letters spell out words that do not exist; if you look closely, you begin to see that some of the letters are not real letters in any known language.

This is what human written language looks like to an alien intelligence—for if we stipulate that the bots are intelligent (which not everyone will agree to), then we must at least call them alien intelligences.
Sometimes the bot has obviously been given directions about the words to include in the image; but the bot has felt free to treat the words as impressionistically as the pictorial part of the image.
Prompting, it seems, can generate very real-looking pictures, but these attempts at written language probably tell us something very interesting about how much the bots actually understand of what they are picturing for us.
Even this SOLD sign, which gets the word right, includes what is obviously meant to be a phone number that looks like no phone number in use today—although, in an alternate universe where named telephone exchanges were kept into the YouTube age, this number would make sense as “STanton 42-4507.”
So what have we learned from our little excursion into botdom? First, that unsupervised bots need to be reined in and their work refined or altered by humans if the humans do not wish to be embarrassed. Second, that there seems to be no penalty for extreme laziness in video making, so go ahead and upload your first attempt.
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PROP. 65β WARNING.
WHY WE DON’T LEARN FOREIGN LANGUAGES,
And What We Can Do About It.

An American soldier making himself understood in Romanian.
Cynics will tell you that it is because Americans are lazy ignorant xenophobes. And the cynics are mostly right, if only because most human beings are lazy ignorant xenophobes, and Americans are no better than anybody else.
But many lazy ignorant xenophobes in other countries are bilingual or trilingual. Some of the most profoundly stupid people Dr. Boli has ever known have been fluently stupid in two or three languages.
So why not Americans?
There are practical reasons. We live in the midst of an ocean of English, and few Americans need to understand any other language to get on with their everyday lives. It is true that they may have thousands of neighbors who speak Spanish or Korean or Uzbek; but average English-speaking Americans deal with those neighbors by ignoring them most of the time, and by shouting at them when they cannot be ignored, on the well-known principle that shouting makes even foreigners understand plain English.
But Dr. Boli proposes another reason as well, which is that our methods of teaching languages make learning them impossible for all but the most motivated students. The pedants have taken over language instruction, as they have everything else, and they place prickly severe-tire-damage roadblocks right at the beginning of the course to discourage us from learning anything.
The very first thing you have to learn in a language is the set of basic sounds that language uses. Native speakers of a different language will probably use sounds you cannot imitate. The pedants will insist at the beginning of the course that you must spend a week trying (and failing) to get those sounds right. After that week you are thoroughly discouraged; you say “This is hard” and abandon the class and sign up for Macrame 101 instead.
Consider the French nasal vowels. You want to ask where the restaurant is in French: “Où est le restaurant?” It’s as simple a question as you could ask, but that word “restaurant” ends in a sound that American mouths cannot form—partly because it involves not just the mouth but the nose as well. You are stuck at the beginning of your Intro to French course, and you feel like a fool.
But now think back to your acquaintances who are fluent in multiple languages. Dr. Boli has had good friends from Spain, Hungary, China, Germany, Ethiopia, and many other places who all spoke English fluently: they could express any idea easily, with grammatical precision and expressive elegance that would shame most American native speakers of English.
But they spoke with an accent. You could tell the German was German; his vowels and consonants came out as approximations of English sounds adapted to the way a native German could easily form them. And that was fine. No one had any trouble understanding him. We noticed his accent at first, but we forgot it a few minutes into a conversation with him. The same is true of all the others: they made themselves understood perfectly in English, perhaps even better than many native Americans.
Successfully bilingual people are usually people who have got over their fear of having a funny accent.
So we go back to our American introduced to French for the first time. He wants to ask where the restaurant is. We can give him diagrams of mouth positions; we can show a cutaway view of the human head with arrows indicating the direction of air flow. He will be confronted with a pneumatico-anatomical treatise that will make him despair.
Or we can just tell him to say this:
“oo AY luh RESS-to-RAHNG?”
Yes, he will have an American accent in French. But any French speaker will understand that question and be able to point to Chez Micheline on the corner.
In the Second World War, American soldiers descended on Europe and Asia by the shipload, and they had to learn in a hurry how to make themselves understood. This was an urgent necessity, and fortunately the War Department had the best technical writers ever gathered together in one enterprise. They put together quick guides for the soldiers that would let them make themselves understood, funny American accent and all. KAWM-pruh-nay VOO?

These are probably the best introductions to foreign languages ever written for American English-speakers, because they assume that the goal is not native pronunciation but communication. The pronunciations shown in the guides are not perfect: they are simply good enough.
You will find all the words and phrases written both in French spelling and in a simplified spelling which you read like English. Don’t use the French spelling, the one given in parentheses, unless you have studied French before. Read the simplified spelling as though it were English. When you see the French word for “where” spelled oo, give the oo the sound it has in the English words too, boot, etc. and not the sound it has in German or any other language you may happen to know.
These manuals were meant to accompany a set of records, and if you were the lucky kind of soldier who could sit down with a phonograph and listen to the recordings, you might hear the actual native pronunciation of the language. But the compilers of the manuals knew that many soldiers would not be so lucky, so the printed pronunciations would have to do the job well enough.
Longtime readers may already have guessed this: Dr. Boli has rounded up most of these War Department language manuals and created a new page in the Eclectic Library:
War Department Language Guides.

FROM THE ILLUSTRATED EDITION.
TERMS OF USE AGAIN.
So we brace ourselves for the usual novella-length cataract of legal jargon, with pages’ worth of fat grey paragraphs in SCREAMING CAPITAL LETTERS.
But there are no paragraphs in all caps (bold is used for emphasis instead—fancy that!). The new terms are presented on a clean-looking page with clear subheads to lead you through them. And with the copious subheads, the Terms of Use amount to 871 words.
Even when lawyers are involved, if succinct and transparent terms of use are the goal, they seem to be possible.
The privacy notice is longer—5,266 words, including subheads. But once again, the subheads that guide you through it are a big part of the word count, and many of the other words are clear explanations of how to turn off features you might not like if you want more privacy.
Could these terms and privacy notice be adopted by all browsers, as we have suggested in this space, to create a universal agreement for Web browsing?
Well, probably not. A big part of the business model of Chrome or Edge is selling you, the user, as a product to people who want to know what you do on line, so the agreements would probably have to be longer—although, without the opt-out instructions, they might also lose a few words, so perhaps it would balance out.
But, at any rate, we have found an example of terms and conditions expressed in fewer than a thousand words. It can be done. But how?
Probably just by stating the correct goal.
Let us suppose you have developed a new squirrel-counting app for Android phones. Right now there is a terrible dearth of squirrel-counting phone apps, and countless millions of squirrel counters are waiting to pay you the very reasonable $12.99 to be able to automate the counting process. But to make sure you are not liable for users’ stupidity or malevolence, you need some terms and conditions.
If you tell your corporate lawyer, “We need terms of use for our app,” the lawyer will want to do a good job. Most employees want to do a good job until you beat the desire out of them. But what is a “good job”? You haven’t defined it!
So your lawyer does the natural thing: she works hard to come up with the most unlikely scenarios she can think of and take them into account. She thinks of every illegal use to which a squirrel-counting app could be put, and she specifically prohibits each of them individually and in detail. She measures her progress by pages of text, probably written in Microsoft Word, and at the end she hands you a PDF, which she expects you to distribute as your Terms and Conditions in spite of the fact that it cannot be read on a phone screen.
That is one possible definition of a “good job.” But suppose you told your lawyer this: “Your job is to compress the absolutely necessary legal terms into the smallest possible space, while still making sure that the average reader can not only interpret them but also understand the reasons for them.”
Well, this is a challenge. You have just made your lawyer’s life fun. The assignment isn’t just useful drudgery anymore: now it’s an intellectual puzzle.
But is there any good reason why we, the corporation specializing in animal-counting software (makers of the popular MooseMate), should care whether our terms and conditions are friendly to users as long as they protect us from liability?
Well, yes, there is. It sometimes seems as though the law is a magic spell activated by speaking the proper incantations. But when it is working right, the legal system is our best attempt at making sure that everyone is treated fairly, and good judges interpret the law with that goal in mind. Some day, someone is going to convince a judge that “agreements” that no user can ever possibly read are not binding. When that happens, the 871-word terms and conditions are likely to stand while the 26,000-word terms and conditions fall.
So if you can’t make your terms and conditions short and easily understood because it’s courteous and the right thing to do, then do it because it’s the most reliable way to get what you want out of the suckers who buy your services.












