A. 亞利桑那 B. 奥克兰 C. 堪薩斯城 D. 聖地牙哥 E. 旧金山

F. 西雅圖 G. 圣路易斯 H. 丹佛

so theoman likes stream of consciousness huh well in that case i thought i would try writing todays post in a freer style that is not hampered by fascist punctuation or Okay, I can’t do this.  But even though it’s not great for blogging, the stream of consciousness strategy seems to pay off at a 50% rate for character guessing, which, as regular KYPC participants know, makes it pretty much the best game in town.  It nabbed him Denver (H) right off the bat–though I have a sneaking suspicion that his old friend, phonetic complexity, helped the stream along a bit in that case.  Anyway, he shouldn’t have needed it, as the characters for Denver are the same as their team.  Denver’s NFL team is the “Vermilion Buddhas,” right?  It also won him Seattle (F), which, appropriately enough for this Western quiz, starts with a character meaning “west.”  After that, however, the consciousness stream streamed off a bit.  Whatever the heck that means.

We hoped that when A Fan went out of town, he might have stopped in one of these places in order to improve his chances of guessing correctly.  It seems that he didn’t, however.  The character he identified as the Gateway Arch in A actually refers to Asia, so of course this is Arizona, which is . . . uh, a little closer to Asia than . . . well, about half of the others, anyway.  Then he went on to make a disparaging statement about the fine people of San Diego and a cryptic one about Oakland.  Then he actually got one right, so we had to do a double take and go back.  He probably thought he was kidding when he identified the third character in E as the hills of San Francisco, but this character actually means “mountain,” as in “old gold mountain,” which is what the Chinese decided to name the City by the Bay.  And as for the rest of his guesses . . . well, perhaps the less said the better.

We thank Shirley for her informative statements on the subject of knee replacement surgery and wish her a speedy recovery.

Finally came Dragon, who has never given up on the idea that I am trying to trick you all every week.  Her lack of trust led her to employ a sneaky strategy.  Fortunately for all that is good and pure in the world, this strategy backfired by . . . correctly identifying Arizona (A), Kansas City (C), and Saint Louis (G), giving her the best score of the week.  Hmm . . .

B is Oakland, where “the inside overcomes the orchid.”  D is San Diego, which is “a whale’s . . .”–No, I’m just kidding.  It’s the “holy land of fangs and elder brothers.”

And at last we swing back around to the East, where we can find teams in Buffalo, Dallas, Miami, New England, New York, New York again (no, I won’t list it twice), Philadelphia, and Washington.

A. 達拉斯 B. 新英格兰 C. 纽约 D. 水牛城

E. 費城 F. 迈阿密 G. 华盛顿

Every lawyer must prepare for the situation of a witness spouting out something that seems to mean nothing at all.  The best reaction is to pretend that you understood completely and move on as if nothing unusual has happened.  Other possibilities include making it seem as though what they said is unimportant or even accusing them of using words that an ordinary person—such as the ordinary people on the jury—couldn’t possibly be expected to be familiar with.

Peter chose to sit down.  The floor was as nasty as you would expect, but the station was all but deserted in the early afternoon, so at least there was little risk of being stepped on.  The glorious joy of escaping from the evil tune was slowly being replaced by a vague dizziness, and it didn’t seem like things would be getting better any time soon.  “What did you say?”

“It’s German.”  He had guessed that.  Though he had never studied, Peter had the basic American’s understanding of European languages: flowing, pretentious-sounding words are French; long, angry-sounding words are German; words that are fifteen letters long and contain no vowels are Welsh.  “It means ‘Song of Mastery’ or something like that.”

It was at this point—and also at numerous other points later on—that Peter seriously considered leaving.  He had never gotten the pleasure of meeting Almirante Loco, but he was well aware that there are people in the world who, for whatever reason, say a lot of things that don’t make sense.  Sometimes such people can be amusing: if they seem harmless and respect your physical space, it’s okay to stick around and listen.  But when they ask for money, or turn violent, or rattle off bizarre, fantasy-esque terms as if they actually mean something, then it’s time to walk away.

But he couldn’t walk away, because if he did, the song—the Bearhairshunglead?—might come back.

Still, he decided to tread lightly.  She had already hit him once, and that time he hadn’t even done anything.  He did not want to think about what she might do if he started questioning her beliefs, no matter how crazy they may have been.

“So, when you say, ‘under the effect,’ you mean . . .?”

“It’s simple.  You pretty much just described it.  If you hear the Beherrschunglied, you’re bound to the will of the person who performed it.  Basically you have to do whatever they want.  If you don’t—if you resist, or try to run, or fight it—then the song gradually takes over your mind.  It grows louder, more insistent, blocking off anything else you try to focus on.  It shouldn’t drive you completely insane, because then you wouldn’t be any use to anyone, but, like you said, it’s not exactly pleasant.”

Peter tried to pretend he was at the doctor’s office.  After all, doctors (like lawyers) use lots of words that don’t seem to make any sense, and their explanations are, if you think about it, kind of unbelievable: “If you don’t swallow this mystery object that has god-only-knows-what inside, then millions of tiny things floating around inside your body are going to kill you.”  He asked the only question it makes sense to ask a doctor: “Is there a cure?”

“Sure.  Just follow orders.”

When you say, “This Day,” what does that mean?
Such uncertainty’s nearly obscene
How did they name the date?
How can we keep them straight?
Seems we will e’er be caught in between

Event: Pope Gregory XIII implements the Gregorian Calendar. Thursday, October 4 was the last day under the Julian Calendar (the next day was Friday, October 15).
Year: 1582
Learn more: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gregorian_Calendar

A. 亚特兰大 B. 卡羅來納 C. 休斯敦 D. 印第安纳波利斯

E. 傑克遜維爾 F. 新奥爾良 G. 坦帕湾 H. 田纳西

Hmm.  Not a lot of action this week.  I guess you folks aren’t all that well acquainted with fair Dixie, or its major cities, like Indianapolis (too bad A Fan wasn’t around to pounce on that one).  But you’ve got to work with the tools you’re given.

First off, I will point out that the answers appeared in the exact same order in which I listed them in English.  I . . . probably didn’t do that on purpose.

Phonetic complexity is a fickle mistress, but Theoman believes that once he’s staked a claim to a plot of land, there’s no sense trying to move off it, even when the dust storms hit (perhaps he also believes that one should not mix metaphors).  This time, however, he may have scraped together just enough to make it through winter.  He immediately recognized D as Indianapolis, the Crossroads of America, because it has so much random junk in it: a seal (like, the kind you put on letters, not the kind that plays with a beach ball at the zoo), tranquility, waves . . . waves?  We’re 600 miles from the ocean!  He also promptly spotted Tennessee, recognizing its fertile rice fields (1st character) and the fact that it is the farthest west (3rd character) of any of these, at least if you go to its furthest western point.  He tried for the hat trick, but C, unfortunately, is Houston.  He should have quit and taken a break (1st character) while he was ahead.

Dragon’s heart, on the other hand, will reside forever in the Big Easy.  She correctly identified F, and for some reason she decided to credit the third character, instead of the first one, which means “new.”  But accuracy isn’t important.  Clearly her memories are of staring out the window (see?  It’s a window!  But not really) of her French Quarter apartment, looking down at all the people below in a high state of “celebration” (the little exes).  For some reason, she will ever long for the French Quarter–for quarters in general, really.  She misses them so.

Okay, so I guess I need to pump a little excitement into this crowd.  Let’s take on the wild frontier!  Go west, young (or old) man (or woman)!  To Arizona, Denver, Kansas City, Oakland, San Diego, San Francisco, Saint Louis, Seattle, or wherever the wind may carry you!

A. 亞利桑那 B. 奥克兰 C. 堪薩斯城 D. 聖地牙哥 E. 旧金山

F. 西雅圖 G. 圣路易斯 H. 丹佛

Any good lawyer knows that the ordering of your questions is crucial.  The exact same set of responses can, when arranged differently, tell a completely different story, or no story at all.  Usually you have to build it up, starting by setting the scene with mundane facts until arriving at the climax, sometimes tossing in quiet harbingers of things to come among the seemingly meaningless trivia.  Anyone who says cross-examination isn’t an art isn’t doing it properly.

But preparing this sequence of questions takes time.  Even veteran trial lawyers spend hours and days directing the flow of information like a pack of engineers preparing to set a river on a new course.  If you try to wing it, as the rookies so often do, you end up telling the wrong story, or your story doesn’t make sense.  Sometimes you even repeat yourself, which can be used as a technique to trip up a not particularly bright witness for the other side, but it’s not recommended for general use.

Peter was in no mood for a slow build-up.  He was in no state to spend time preparing.  He wanted an answer now.

“What the hell did you do to me?”

The woman, on the other hand, was quite well prepared to answer.  She had spent much of the morning thinking about what she had done, what she could have done differently, how it had affected her already bothersome existence.  She hadn’t even been asking people the Question.  It was an unusual day for her.

“I yelled at you and I hit you,” she replied calmly.  As a matter of fact, they were both calm, though one was a before-the-storm calm and the other an after-the-storm calm.  “But that doesn’t seem to explain why you’re back.”

In court, people swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.  Most people assume that two out of three ain’t bad, and if they’re going to skip one, it might as well be that one in the middle.  Peter had been familiar with this popular strategy since long before he started law school; anyone who grew up with a sibling knows all about it.  He had employed it himself, and he definitely knew when it was being used on him.

“I’ve been yelled at before, and I’ve been hit before.”  Not often, but two can play at the lie of omission game.  “I’ve never been through anything like this.”

“So tell me about it.”  It was nice for once not to have to be the one trying to lead the conversation.  She found it strangely comforting, a nice reprieve in a life that had given her so many sources of discomfort lately.

Peter recounted the tale of his day thus far, trying not to think about the fact that it was only half over.  He continued to omit certain facts that other people might have considered especially relevant.  She didn’t need to know about his rude awakening.  She didn’t need to know about the Speech.  It was a tale of trials and tribulations, but he had narrowed it down to the ones that he felt he could link directly to her.  Given more time, he might have been able to come up with a way to pin the alarm clock on her as well, but he was doing this on the fly.

As he delivered his saga of woe, he kept close attention on the woman’s face.  It is a common rookie mistake to only watch witnesses when they’re responding to your questions, thinking the most important thing is to try to tell whether or not they’re lying.  An experienced lawyer, however, knows that most witnesses have practiced their speeches before coming in and have been coached about how to deliver them without showing signs of falsification.  It is in their responses to what you say—the part of the script they haven’t heard before—that they are most likely to let something slip.

Listening to the story of the maddening mystery tune, the old woman first registered shock, and then she shifted to a look of understanding.  At the end of the tale, her face showed mild bemusement.  This told Peter . . . not much of anything, actually, but keep in mind that by this point he was very tired.

The woman couldn’t help but smile.  Like everyone else, she didn’t like to admit it, but, like everyone else, she was helpless to resist the power of schadenfreude.  “You’re under the effect of the Beherrschunglied.”

Everywhere you go, you hear BEEP BEEP
Massive highways across the land sweep
Benz invented the car
More important, by far
Was ol’ Henry Ford: he made it cheap

Event: The first Model T rolls out of the Ford plant in Detroit, Michigan
Year: 1908
Learn more: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ford_Model_T

A. 克里夫蘭 B. 格林贝 C. 芝加哥 D. 辛辛那提 E. 底特律

F. 巴爾的摩 G. 匹兹堡 H. 明尼蘇達

This feature seems to grow more and more dangerously close to Tuesday every week, but we’ll do our best to prevent that, since we’ve already got a Tuesday thing, and one where it actually matters what day it’s on to boot.  The line, as they say, must be drawn here!

One purpose of KYPC, it seems, is to discover whether or not it is worthwhile to trust one’s irrational impulses.  Unfortunately, the results have been inconclusive.  I am sure that there have been numerous occasions on which these baseless picks have paid off, but unfortunately for Theoman, his was not one of them.  But maybe he only thought it was baseless.  Maybe he somehow knew that that character at the end meant “to chafe,” and, realizing the winter was coming, thought of the dry skin problems that wreak havoc on those who dwell so far north.  Except . . . that doesn’t make much sense either, because F is Baltimore, which, as A Fan noted, is further south than the Mason-Dixon line (though it’s not the furthest south on this list).  In any case, he can find his native Minnesota at H, where it is referred to by a strangely religious-sounding name, with characters meaning “nun” and “rebirth.”  Perhaps this is because, as A Fan would be quick to point out, the Vikings don’t have a prayer of making the playoffs this year.

You might think that Shirley would have better odds by taking shots at all eight cities instead of just one, but her results were no better than Theoman’s.  We enjoyed her imagining of the first two characters in D as the lampposts turning back on in Detroit, but if she had thought a little longer she might have put more weight with the fact that they were the same character and looked for a city that starts with the same sound twice: D is Cincinnati.  E is Detroit, and reality is much darker than Shirley’s proposed bright future: the first character there means, roughly, “rock bottom.”

But who cares about scores?  The fun’s in the guessing.  So we wish Shirley the best of luck with her surgery anyway.

A Fan, as usual, made sure we were all up to date on which teams he likes and which he does not.  He did manage to get one correct answer, for even though Baltimore is only “the North” by NFL standards, it’s not so far out there that it can’t be identified.  Still, we would like to suggest that he pull out a map and compare Baltimore, which he describes as being not the North, and Cincinnati, which he calls barely the North.  He might be surprised.  His beloved Chicago is, appropriately enough, at C (though it would have been equally appropriate for Cleveland or Cincinnati), where the first character (“lawn”) depicts the Midway of which the Bears are Monsters.  His objects of grudging respect are at B (Green Bay) and G (Pittsburgh).  A, of course, is actually a depiction of Red Right 88, with the first character being Quarterback Brian Sipe, the last character Tight End Ozzie Newsome (who is so obviously covered!), the next-to-last a wide-open Dave Logan, and the second character poor, beat-up Don Cockroft, lying on the ground (also, you forgot “The Fumble”).

In conclusion, Ohio is a terrible place to try to watch NFL games.

But forget Ohio.  It’s starting to get cold.  Let’s go somewhere warmer . . . say, the South?  Look for Atlanta, Carolina, Houston, Indianapolis, Jacksonville, New Orleans, Tampa Bay, and Tennessee.

A. 亚特兰大 B. 卡羅來納 C. 休斯敦 D. 印第安纳波利斯

E. 傑克遜維爾 F. 新奥爾良 G. 坦帕湾 H. 田纳西

“Shut it off!  SHUT IT OFF!  SHUTITOFF SHUTITOFF SHUTITOFF!”

Everyone stared at him.  Only Wachowsky, who was blessed with the considerable inertia owed to a man who consumed more tortes in a week than most people did in their entire lives, was able to take the outburst in stride.

“The kid’s right,” he grumbled in his usual, semi-comprehensible manner.  He gestured at the screen.  “This damn fool doesn’t have any idea what he’s talking about!”

BUM BA DA DA DEE BA BUUUM

At that moment a voice pierced through the rapidly hardening concrete sludge that was filling Peter’s mind.  It did not replace the music, nor was it louder than the music, yet somehow he was able to understand it.  He looked around the room to see who commanded this magical voice, but no one was talking to him; they were all arguing with Wachowsky, who was arguing with the man on the screen.

In a moment of clarity (or insanity, depending on how you look at it), Peter realized that the voice belonged to the woman who had attacked him in the subway station.

“This is it?” the voice asked.  “This is how you spend your time?  Sitting in a room listening to rich old men bickering about what words to use in a document that you don’t know anything about?  This is what’s so important that you’re too busy to help me?”

Peter, now convinced that he was losing his mind, gave up.

“Excuse me,” he said, standing up quickly and not even noticing the pain when he slammed both his knees into the thick mahogany table.  “I need to go home.”

He exited the room as quickly as possible, taking three tries to find the door handle, and pinwheeled dangerously back through the hallway to the elevator.  He hit all the buttons, unable even to guess which was which, and collapsed into the car, hanging onto the railing as if it was the only thing preventing him from plummeting into the Grand Canyon.

Peter wasn’t sure how he got out of the building without being stopped by security.  He had no memory of the process.  He wondered if this was what it was like to be on drugs.  The only comparable experience in his life—the day he got his wisdom teeth removed—patterned similarly.  His first memory was of gradually regaining awareness, accompanied by a slow realization of dull, throbbing pain, this time in his knees as opposed to the back of his mouth.

Then he heard a loud sound: “TZAMON BOG, TZAMON BOG.  EXADON YULITE.”

He was on the subway.  And he was home.

For about a second, Peter thought that having been able to get from Millbury Tower, across Dipaoli Plaza, and onto the subway without getting himself killed was the most amazing thing that had happened to him all day.  Then the ramifications of the fact that he had actually heard the subway announcement hit him.

The world was no longer simply a whirlwind of hateful noise.  The strange tune was not gone, but it was significantly softer and less menacing.  As he stepped off the subway into Simon Park Station, it grew softer still.

A wave of euphoria washed over him.  He felt like skipping all the way home—that is, until he remembered that his legs still felt like someone had taken a baseball bat to them.  Even so, as he limped through the turnstile and toward the exit, he relished the diminishing of the music that had nearly melted his brain with every step he took.  When it was gone completely, he stopped, took a deep breath, and let out a shout of pure glee.

He heard a noise to his right, presumably in response to his outburst.  Since being able to hear things again was still something of a novelty, he decided to check it out.  Then he froze like a man who has just realized he is about to step on the third rail.

Peter was staring at the old woman.  He was standing in the exact same spot where she had grabbed him several hours earlier.

A curious blend of emotions was running through the recently decongested paths inside Peter’s head, so when he said, “You did say I’d be back,” he probably looked about the same as he did when she had slapped him.

The woman stared back, looking just as shocked as he did.  “Yeah,” she finally got out, “but I didn’t believe me.”

King of Italy–most, but not all–
VE II oversaw one last brawl
See, a king needs a home
So they had to take Rome
Blow a hole in Aurelian’s wall

Event: Troops enter Rome through a hole in the city wall near the Porta Pia, completing the unification of Italy
Year: 1870
Learn more: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Italian_Unification

A. 丸芝努止怒　B. 方農呂應　C. 万遅所濃　D. 仕曳八阿則沼

E. 安陀武受

Let’s start with Dragon this time, because . . . hey, why not?

Clearly Dragon’s entire knowledge of the colonial period (and perhaps all of U.S. history) is based on 1776.  There’s nothing wrong with this; we at the Wordsman fully support the policy of defining history through fiction.  On the other hand, it’s apparently not a good policy for getting your KYPC guesses in line.  D is depressing?  Well, I suppose there’s a swamp in there at the end, but it’s not Washington.  A is obnoxious?  It does end with “anger,” true, but the character right before that means “stop,” and wouldn’t “stopping anger” be the opposite of obnox . . . ion?  E’s not sulking; that first character means it is tranquility itself, though the third character means it is also a warrior.

Her two random guesses, however, were perfectly correct.  B, the square farm responding to the second half of a bathtub, is Monroe, and C, the ten thousand slow, thick locations, is Madison.  Maybe if she paid more attention in history class, she would have known that instead of having to simply pull it out of thin air.

Shirley clearly did pay attention in history class, because she at least knew that Washington comes first, at A.  She also got Monroe and Madison right, despite that fact that they (almost! look closely!) start with the same character.  And she knows that we all like Jefferson at D even if there’s not all that much to like.  I mean, look at it.  Pulling?  The number eight?  A nook or corner?  Not very exciting, really.  She even got Adams at E, a connection not made by every participant, though every participant did correctly identify him as being obnoxious or prickly.

A Fan, of course, had to get technical.  You can’t get away with anything in this family.  I mean blog.  That’s right.  Blog.  Anyway, shame on me for forgetting such legendary founders as Elias Boudinot or Nathaniel Gorham, because clearly the United States under the Articles of Confederation are something to be celebrated rather than forgotten.  His identification of A with Adams-Morgan is peculiar, because as I recall the subway system in Washington D.C. is relatively easy to understand, unlike in some other places (see: New York City).  Then again, if that’s what he thought it looked like, maybe he should have guessed Washington, because that would have been correct.  At least he knows good high-stepping when he sees it, and can tell the difference between the staid dignity of Washington University in St. Louis and the madcap antics of University of Wisconsin-Madison.  Unfortunately, none of these insights led him to correct answers.

Theoman got most of them, though Jefferson is the longest not because of the “f” but because of the “j” (actually, it is debatable whether or not Japanese in the time when man’yogana were being used had an “f” sound, but we don’t have to get into that).  His only stumble was over Madison and Monroe.  Are they really that different?  You can ask Shirley, I suppose.

But now it’s time for something new.  Enough history.  Are you ready for some FOOTBALL??? That’s right, it’s pigskin season, the perfect time to do a quiz on football teams . . .

Oh.  You say we already did that?  Hmm . . .

I know!  We’ll do a quiz on football team locations rather than names.  Now, most U.S. geographical locations would be written in Japanese with katakana, which would be boring and way too easy for Theoman.  We could do them in man’yogana again, but I think it’s time to switch things up.  This week’s KYPC challenge will be in . . . Chinese!  Where’s your advantage now, Theoman?  The principle is similar to man’yogana; the characters are chosen based on their phonetic (sound) similarity rather than their meaning.  The main difference is that, because Chinese has actually been used within the last millennium, these names might actually mean something to someone.  And by “someone,” I mean at least several hundred million people.

First up, the North.  Look for Baltimore, Chicago, Cincinnati, Cleveland, Detroit, Green Bay, Minnesota, and Pittsburgh.

A. 克里夫蘭 B. 格林贝 C. 芝加哥 D. 辛辛那提 E. 底特律

F. 巴爾的摩 G. 匹兹堡 H. 明尼蘇達