QWERTY

Miss Kimba is riding high again after a few blue days. The arrival of the late spring rainy season has boosted my spirits and has given me the perfect excuse to waft around in flowing vintage kimonos unclasped at the front, burning incense and tapping out answers to the next round of quiffles, quaffles and quandaries... which delivers me neatly to today's topic. The letter Q. Well more precisely Q and U, but Q is a far more exciting and unusual letter than plain old U.

My housemate devised this question with a vaguely malicious glint in his eye...You can tell the sort of chap he is from his email, which reads:

"Dear Miss Kimba,
Salutations,
OK, here's something that falls squarely into the realm of the mundane, but I think your site is in need of some balance - some more straight ahead chat for the more pedestrian folks among us. So here 'tis

What is the origin of the link between q and u?

looking forward to your wisdom...

peace
gregory paul lavender"

Notice the way he tries to balance out his murky intent with the addition of pale sentiments such as 'peace' and 'salutations'? Hmmm...

Well Gregory Paul Lavender, I'd like to begin with a quote.

"Quoth the raven 'Nevermore!'" Poe

That quote has almost nothing to do with anything other than the fact 'Quoth' is a nice 'qu' word and the quote ends with an exclamation mark, a single quotation mark, and a double quotation mark, which gets grammarians like myself all hot under the collar.

When I first pondered this query, I thought it was a rather exciting quodlibet
(philosophical issue presented for formal argument). I found it a quirky, quizzical question, one that deserved a somewhat quixotic answer. I felt I could have spent at least a quinquennium (a period of five years) figuring out an answer. Then, after a dose of gin and tonic (with its tart quinine base) I realised that the answer to query was quite easy to acquire.

The simple answer is this: The letter Q is the 17th letter of the latin alphabet, which people expert in these sorts of things think came from an Egyptian Hieroglyph, which then turned into the Semitic sound Qop (it has lots of weird bobbly dots that i can't find on my keyboard). Not hieroglyphics again I hear you all moan...well, I can't help it if none of you had a decent education now, can I?

At any rate, along the way these languages went through a whole host of styles, from greek to Germanic to Romance to latin...Now you know what your sweetheart means if he asks you to try it 'greek-style.' The origin of how Q and U were quilted together with a quirt (a short handled whip with a lash of braided raw-hide) and commanded to remain thus for a period of a quintillion years is uncertain, to tell you the truth. It might have something to do with the fact that apparently Q is the least used letter. I would have thought X was, but with all the hard-core porn around these days, you can see XXX or even XXXX all in a row, in the most unlikely places almost every day.

Perhaps some ancient quondam (former) drunkard linguist type, who was languishing in the quod (prison), or some quidnunc (meddlesome person) who everybody was hoping would soon reach their quietus was pondering Q or Qoppa or Qop and felt that it looked a rather folorn and queer little letter. Perhaps they felt the letter looked questionable and had some qualms about it...Either way, some person, a querulous quean (disreputable woman) or queens quartermaster threw down their quern (a primitive hand turned grain mill) or their quaich (two-handled Scottish drinking cup) and proclaimed to all that from now on it was Q and U all the way.

Although it's true the origin of this quirky relationship is somewhat difficult to quantify, it certainly is an enduring relationship. These days, in the English language there are only a smattering of Q words that exist without the U, perhaps only a quadrat of words. The Arabic language has liberated Q from what we would have thought was its quiddity. They have a whole host of 'just Q' words, from burqa to Iraq, from souq to faqir.

The nerds at Scrabble meanwhile only accept the following Q words without a U in the English version: qi, qat, qaid, qoph, qanat, tranq, faqir, sheqel, qindar, qintar, qindarka, and qwerty. Seems they'll accept some Arabic words but not the classic French coq and Pontacq. Someone should do something about those pedantic quibblers.

Finally, I just wanted to mention the word QWERTY, because, well isn't it a marvellous word. It's all in a row right there in front of you. If you peer at your keyboard you'll see it. It might just seem like a random row of letters on the keyboard, much the same as ASDFG or VBNM, but actually QWERTY is quite unique! Invented by a bloke named Chris in 1867, QWERTY is actually an ingenious invention, and refers to the entire layout of the current day keyboard layout, which has been around since 1873. I could go on about it, or you could just look up Wikipedia.

Incidentally, did you realise that all the letters that make up the word 'typewriter' can be found on the top row of your keyboard letters. What a marvellous piece of entirely useless information!

So there you have it Greggu, you querulous queen. Now that I've quantified your query with a qualified answer, I think it time this queen quaffed a lot of quaaludes and popped off for a bit of a quickie!

* Thanks to Wikipedia and Webster's II New Riverside University Dictionary 1984.

Today I got the blues -- no questions, just a tune

Dezzo Erasmus and the Brekkie Bong

Good to see the questions are starting to flow in! I now have small backlog of juicy personal dilemmas, creative quandaries, and the odd curve-ball designed to try and trip me up (obviously posed by buffoons who haven't seen me star-jump in six-inch heels.

Today we've got a quirky little query from a high-flying Canberra exec, who, I must say is in possession of a rather wonderful rack. She asks:

'Why is the grass always greener, even when we know it's poisonous?'

Well, I was going to point out that the answer to this question should be easy to find for a Canberra lass -- simply visit Sinnish at number 144 Bernie Court, Woden, and he'll be able to answer that for you, over a couple of bubbling hot bongs. Then I remembered they razed Bernie Court and all the former residents are either living in Charnwood, or they've gone straight-edge and are now working at the Department of Odd Socks and Bobble-ends.

Canberra specific humour aside, I thought it best to trace the origin of the saying, 'the grass is always greener on the other side.'

Turns out, we've known this since the 15th Century. A chap by the name of Desiderius Erasmus said it first, and it seems we haven't learnt much since. Erasmus was a Dutch Catholic Renaissance scholar who had it in for Martin Luther in a pretty big way. He dropped the first name 'Desiderius' after he got properly pissed at the tavern one night and picked up the nickname 'Dezzo' (which has now found its way into Antipodean vernacular as another form of 'Derro' or 'Derelict).

Dezzo...er I mean Erasmus, wrote a whole host of tomes in addition to his bite-size proverbs, including a lengthy weekend project that he creatively titled 'The New Testament -- Latin Edition.'

But enough about Dezzo and his prolific profligation of religious and moral guidebooks, let's look at the actual question here.

First, 'why do we think the grass is always greener?'

That bit's simple enough. Weighed down by the monotonous plod of salary-man life, the horror of abject poverty, the shiny vacuous sheen and ultra-high speed pace of wealth and fame, the choking boredom and neglect of a loveless marriage, the relentless effort of owning a small business, (are you getting the idea yet?) or even the exhausting equanimity of religious enlightenment, I'm fairly sure most of us have times when we think 'bloody hell, what's all this about...Look at that person, they've got a teepee farm in peru, that'd be nice....Oh my god, Paris just gets to take xanax and get her tits out, I wouldn't mind that...'Christ, this 'His Holiness' stuff is really getting me down, I bet the head of Ba'hai doesn't have to act this happy all the time...'

We're grasping fiends. We're daydreamers. We can't see the forest for the trees (hang on was that Erasmus too? Actually no, that was already well established in John Heywood's 1546 proverb almanac)...And we all know it too. We revel in the fanciful nature of it all.

It's the second part of this query that has me stumped...
'...even when we know it's poisonous?'

My answer would be because we simply love the danger of thinking that way. And a daring few actually press it a bit further, hoping sniff out the elusive 'dangerous other side' without having to actually find out it's not that fantabulous after all. It's like the Japanese and Fugu (puffer fish). They know it's bloody dangerous, but they think it tastes so good (why I'm not sure, it has to be the most tasteless of all the aquatic vertebrates)that they train these rubber booted chaps to carefully chop around the 'immediate and agonising poison death sac' bit. The strange thing is the closer the flesh to the sac, the MORE expensive the dish...

I think to get the answer to this part of the question, you really do need to go and have a few brekkie bongs with Sinnish.

Pictorial Filler

I thought this site looked a bit wordy, so here's a little light relief.

This is what I usually wear while answering your questions:


There, there, ask Miss Kimba and she'll blow you a kiss and sort it out.

One for the broad brush strokes

I shouldn't beat around the bush with this one -- best to let it straight out of the bag, and let it hang somewhat ominously in the air, as questions like this are wont to do....

This one is from Ms. Mood Board herself, Pip Shea.

'What is art?'


......:: ............::..:''.::.::.:.:. """:::"":::......:::...::''.:.:.:

As you can see above, I found the definitive answer. Now, if only the rest of you could read post-Teutonic hieroglyphs, I wouldn't need to go any further!

Actually, my first thought when reading this question was, 'why doesn't she just read the bloody book?' Leo Tolstoy set about answering this question in a lengthy essay in 1897, which he aptly titled 'What is Art?'

Tolstoy started by saying what he thought art wasn't -- that art shouldn't be defined by or limited to concepts of truth, good, or beauty. He also thought that art didn't have to make you feel good, as some ancient, long-bearded, Greek codgers had said a couple of thousand years back.

Tolstoy did pretty well with answering this gargantuan question. He essentially said that art must create some kind of emotional link between artist and audience. He was heavily into the concept of 'communication as infection'and therefore felt that art must communicate something in a clear and genuine way.

Tolstoy did write this treatise well before the Duchamps, Hirsts, and Tracey Emins of our time, but old Leo did a pretty sterling job in creating a yard-stick that works in a general fashion.

But this column is not about Tolstoy, but rather about Miss Kimba (whose ankles are currently being attacked by a small chipmunk named Peggy-Sue). What do I think art is? Well, let's see....

Essentially 'art' to me is about an idea and the skill with which it takes a form. Any form. Whether it's a compact little ditty about a blacksmith, amazing images projected onto urban objects, Grandpa's invention for a automatic toilet roll loader...the point is, it's art if the concept is turned into something tangible, even for an instant (like theatre). Although Tolstoy was more concerned with the communication of an idea or emotion, I'm of the far more woo-woo school of thought, that says it's art even if the only person who takes anything of value from the piece is the person who creates it! As long I'm not given a macrame and hemp owl hanging as a gift that has to be dug out, dusted off, and put it on the wall every time the hapless artist comes to visit!


Had you asked me what the difference between good art and bad art is, I would have had a much tougher time of it!

There you have it -- a nutshell answer. For a more thorough and definitive answer to this matter, I highly recommend investing in 'Teutonic and Post Tuetonice Hieroglyphics; fun for you and me: A workbook.'

Answering the unanswerable

Good afternoon children of the world! Miss Kimba has finally surfaced after nearly drowning in a nasty mix of red wine and single malt whisky. Eeyo sono male, as the Italians say. (`I feel like shit` would be a close translation)

We have two questions relating to that most odd, mixed-up, and precious of human frailties -- the experience of LOVE.

Usually, Miss Kimba likes to answer each question individually, but these two queries resonated so nicely together, that I wanted to lay them side by side.

First, from a delicate Queensland rose, we get this tricky little number:


'Why is it that when a couple breaks up, even though they don't love each other enough to want to be together, they just cannot let go and move on?'


My oh my, that is one tough nut to chew.

Close behind is this cracker:

'Why does love hurt?'


I had to ponder these questions over a long bike ride, a little live jazz set, a huge bowl of salad, and a hair-of-the-dog pint. Here's what I came up with.

At the exact moment I write this, the world's population is estimated to be 6,515,814,810. (see http://www.census.gov/ipc/www/popclockworld.html)

That's a whole lot of romancin' going on! In thinking about these questions, you could probably expect about 6,515,814,810 different answers. Ahem. Not only is that answer bone dry and utterly predictable, it doesn't really address the fact that out of 6,515,814,810 people on the earth, a vast majority share the experience of love and all it's attendant experiences.

I won't even bother trying to define what love is. For one thing, I'm currently living in a country that doesn't really have a way to say 'I love you'; in fact, 13% of the world's cultures have no word for 'love' at all... but I do want to touch on why what the querents call 'love' hurts, and why it's tough to get over a romantic relationship when it ends.

For our purposes, let's agree we know what love is, and what it feels like. Whether the range of your experience is a 30 year marriage or 10 years of crying to Morrissey records on the sofa, I think it's safe to assume that most of us have a fair idea about love.

Being in love, or giving love out requires risk. By throwing caution to the wind and diving head-long into that dizzy mix of emotion and reciprocity, you're risking rejection; you're risking instability; you're putting it all on Red 27 and the wheel's spinning. Love is the siren that might dash you on the rocks, it's utterly desirable and frightening all at the same time.

Love requires letting someone else inside, and many times in the course of a relationship, we open and shut our inner doors. Sometimes you catch a mere glimpse, other times you're thrillingly ensconced inside, sometimes you see more than you ever wanted to, or the door is shut in your face. This is exciting, exhausting, it can also be incredibly painful, but it's a neccessity. In loving someone you're entering into a sort of dance. Your ego, your soulful bits, and your intellects are slithering around each other, locked in a dance without knowing all the moves. Loving is like being on a soccer pitch where someone keeps moving the goal-posts...

All this means there's times when you're gonna eat dirt, bust out a move that leaves you on your arse, times when you're not on the same frequency, let alone the same playing field. Of course, there's also going to be moments of utter magic, when you dance as one and whole constellations pass between you, when the world falls away and there is just that feeling that binds you both, molecules fusing...I could go on, but I risk stumbling into Barbara Cartland land, so I'll refrain.

Chemicals play a big part too (I'm not talking the classic 5am marriage proposal after a big night out on the disco biscuits either). When we meet someone and connect in a romantic way, there's a whole lot of whizz bang chemical reactions behind these feelings. The Big Three love chemicals are:

Norepinepherine: Similar to adrenaline, it produces the racing heart and excitement, and contributes to the 'can't eat, can't sleep' feelings many of us experience when we first 'fall.'
Dopamine: Dopamine is the "pleasure chemical," producing a feeling of bliss. Wouldn't we all like a big bottle of that for the odd top-up.
Phenylethylamine: This little ripper provides the sweaty palm and racing heart effect.

There's also the 'tear your clothes off and go at it in the hallway' chemicals, testosterone and estrogen, but I'm sure we're all fully aquainted with these two saucy specimens!

Over time, these chemicals dip and level out and at the same time "stuff" happens. We get into patterns with our partner. We have certain expectations of that person and the relationship. When the realities of life with that person fall short, resentments and issues can develop. This is like the fork in the road. You either decide (however painfully) that the relationship can't be pursued or isn't worth pursuing, or you make the compromises, change your tack, reconnect. This process is cyclical -- it just keeps happening in different ways and thanks to different elements, and really to me it's what makes loving someone so rewarding and magical. The garden is full of annual plants that keep springing up, while the big trees take root, and the perennials provide a sense of comfort and familiarity.

But what about the 'breaking up is hard to do' element? Again, there's probably at least 6 billion answers! However, you say that they 'don't love each other enough to be together' yet they can't make a clean break.

I hate to go all Dr. Phil on you, so I'll refrain from talking about 'clo*ure' (oi -- it's a dirty dirty word since Dr Phil squeezed the life out of it) but reaching the end of the line and figuring out how to jump ship is just one of those things we have to muddle through.

For one, we have cherished routines. Maybe it was those nightly play-fights before bed, the Sunday drive, the unspoken feeling that saw one person make the other a tea, or leave them to sit in the shed for a few hours.

Maybe the rush of chemicals revs back up for that last little gasp (have you ever noticed how attractive someone is after you've finished with them?).

Or...maybe it's not the end of the story? Perhaps it's just an ad-break, or a particularly knotty chapter halfway through the book...

To the querents -- the answers to your questions are right in front of you. You just have to sit with them for a little while.

Japan's Vegetable Game

Lovely! Our first question is in! It comes all the way from Bangkok, sent by carrier pigeon and scrawled on a napkin that reads 'Fcuk Inn - Liquor in the front, poker in the rear.' Lovely.

Mr David Teh, a scantily employed academic asks Miss Kimba:
'Why is it that the japanese eat bugger-all fresh vegetables?'


Hmm -- a real corker of a first question...

In fact, I must take Mr. Teh to task immediately for making a sweeping generalisation that rivals the opening shot of 'Russian Ark.' Who says the Japanese don't eat fresh veggies? It's certainly easier to find yourself a steaming bowl of somen or soba, ramen, udon, or rice, but I baulk at your suggestion they eat 'bugger-all'fresh veg.

It's true to say the Japanese diet is rapidly changing, as are their agricultural practices, just as it's true that (as any 'gaijin' who has tried to buy a tomato knows) procuring natural veggies that haven't been tampered with, shined up, or pumped full of chemicals is a real challenge.

Just to veer wildly and tangentially for a moment, we once had a tomato sitting in our fridge for weeks on end, and it maintained its firm, plump, and sickly pink visage until we threw it out, shrieking in horror at about the five-week mark...

Rice has a lot to answer for in all of this. You see, only 15% of Japan's land is arable, and the vast majority of this land is used to grow rice. The average size of a farm in Japan is just one acre! Thanks to some very complex and thoroughly boring Japanese govt. food control and subsidy policies, it was just more profitable for these farming chappies to grow rice. Many threw in the fresh veggie towel altogether.

It's also difficult to grow veggies in Japan. Due to relatively high temperatures and high humidity in summer season, there's a whole bunch of nasty diseases, insects, pests, and weeds just waiting to make the whole greenhouse go up in flames. To successfully grow anything you gotta have chemical control, plastic coverings, diseases resistant cultivars and so on...try fitting all that on less than one acre!

For this reason over 80% of Japan's veggies are imported. Which, combined with the demand for blemish free, perfectly symmetrical specimens, makes it BLOODY EXPENSIVE to buy fresh.

Still, the Japanese DO eat fresh, but perhaps not if they are saving up for a new Vuitton handbag. While the consumption of fresh vegetables in the average Japanese household has dropped by 24% since 1970, they still spend more on fresh produce than the Americans -- surprise, surprise. While 18% of Japanese households' food expenditure is on fish, and 10% on fresh veggies, the Americans spend 22% of theirs on meat, and only a meagre 5% on veggies.

So there you go Mr Teh. Rest assured that the Japanese are eating veggies, just not when you come to visit.

I conclude this inaugural edition with a useless tidbit that slots in nicely to this fresh produce 'vibe.' Japanese farmers have engineered a square watermelon that fits the dimensions of the average Japanese fridge exactly.

Marvellous!

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