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ABOUTBlack Lamb was created to offer the discerning reader a stimulating selection of excellent original writing. Published monthly. (more) FREE SAMPLE COPYClick here to receive a free sample issue via U.S. mail. There is absolutely no obligation. SUBSCRIBESupport this independently published journal of fine essays. Annual subscriptions are $15 in the USA, $25 in Canada, $30 in the UK, or $35 elsewhere (all prices in US $). Click here to subscribe online via paypal or send a check to Black Lamb, 1759 View Drive, San Leandro CA 94577. QUESTIONSIf you have questions or comments regarding Black Lamb, please email us. |
Archive for the 'Hess' CategorySkoal!November 1st, 2006 BY JOEL HESS To grasp the importance of intoxicating agents to our culture, one need only turn to the word “drunk” in the thesaurus, where you will be greeted by a large variety of alternatives: inebriated, bombed, plastered, schnozzled, tipsy, crocked, snockered, in one’s cups, smashed, fried, shitfaced, three sheets to the wind, crocked, stewed, half in That our Anglo-Saxon forebears fully appreciated their happy hours is evident in such words as “beer,” “ale” (Old English ealu), “mead” (from meodu, “honey”), “stout” (in the sense of “bold,” as in “stout-hearted men”), and “wine,” related to such Indo-European cousins as Latin vinum (source of “vine”) and Greek oínos (whence “oenolog”). England, though, early on began importing from its closest neighbors, and so today we enjoy whiskey (Irish usquebaugh, “water of life”), brandy (Dutch brandewijn, “burnt wine”), and, more generically, booze (Dutch bousen, “to drink to excess”).
Posted by: The Editors Island AmericaMarch 1st, 2006 BY JOEL HESS I wonder how many of the contributors to this month’s All-Television Issue of Black Lamb will write about the immense inanity of American TV, or mention Newt Minow’s oft-repeated quotation about television’s being a vast wasteland. In the forty-some years since the former FCC chairman made that astute observation, the landscape has only grown vaster, what with three new broadcast networks and hundreds of cable choices, and more barren. I am not about to enumerate Spend twenty-four hours sometime viewing American TV. It doesn’t matter what time of year it is, or what part of the country, or what channel(s) you choose. Notice anything? It’s likely that in those twenty-four hours you will not see a single second about anything outside the U.S.
Posted by: The Editors A straits ChristmasDecember 1st, 2004 BY JOEL HESS I experienced my finest and most traditional Christmas ever in, of all places, Singapore. As a Jewish kid growing up in an Irish and Italian Catholic neighborhood, I had decidedly mixed feelings about Christmas. On the one hand, the season would find everyone on the block in a charitable mood, which was a pleasant change of pace, since I was an odd duck among my peers, and their normal attitude towards me was at best to ignore me and at worst to be outright hostile. But to a Jewish kid in a Christian environment, Christmas mainly means deprivation. All around you are lovely decorations and jolly carols and glowing faces and breathless anticipation, and finally, on the big day, cool presents and a fancy dinner and a break from the tired old routine. What do we get? A distinctly minor holiday in which the biggest excitement is spinning a top. Just doesn’t compare. So I pretty much always avoided Christmas.
Posted by: The Editors One balmy nightSeptember 1st, 2003 BY JOEL HESS The Towering Inferno changed my life. No, really. Not that it was a particularly spectacular flick. It was entertaining, certainly, but no one would place it on any list of the greatest movies of all time. Even as an example of the disaster movie genre, it’s probably not much more than mediocre. (My vote for the best movie of that ilk goes to 1936’s San Francisco; drawn into the story and the characters’ relationships, you forget that it’s a disaster movie until almost the end, when the earthquake finally hits with sudden, startling fury. Who needs state-of-the-art special effects?)
Posted by: The Editors A story of languageJune 1st, 2003
One of my fondest childhood memories is the every-Sunday excursion with my father to the Cobbs Creek branch of the Philadelphia Public Library. Dad was an appliance salesman for a small independent store, these days a vanished institution done in by suburban malls and national chains. His job required him to work miserably long hours, and well into my childhood he would arrive home only shortly before my bedtime. Sunday was the only day I got to spend any real time with him, so I especially cherished our weekly library ritual.
Posted by: The Editors Author profileDecember 1st, 2002 Joel Hess is an amateur logophile and dilettante writer currently living in Portland, Ore. He grew up in a working-class family in the Philadelphia suburbs; went to school at Washington University in St. Louis, majoring in Chinese, including one year on a year-abroad program in Singapore; returned to Philadelphia; and made his home in New York for a decade before deciding to move to the west coast. His various residences, along with extensive travel to forty-four states and twenty-five foreign countries over the course of his lifetime, and formal study of a dozen or so foreign languages to various extents, have supplemented his insatiable thirst for knowledge about the world’s languages to produce a solid foundation for writing about language and linguistics. His other major interest is in music, in which he has a degree (B.Mus. in music history) from Temple University. As a singer and violinist, he has performed with dozens of ensembles on three continents. He lives alone, alas, but if you know of any available gentlemen, he would be glad of an introduction. His Black Lamb column is called Glossolalia.
Posted by: The Editors
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