Join Jane the Phoole at Her Majesty's Winter Faire in Madison, Wisconsin this weekend! It's an intimate experience, indoors, giving you a chance to meet and spend real quality face-time with some of your favorite characters. Turn down your speakers and visit the new website for the event at http://winterrenfair.webs.com/ for more info (the site has music that plays automatically, which is pretty surprising if you're going for stealth as you browse)!

In the works is a new motley for Jane the Phoole. It will be half harlequin diamonds and half wide stripes, and it will have lots and lots of color. The silhouette is identical to that of the Competition Gown (the one worn at Muncaster Castle in 2007), but the color and contrast will be pushed past 11.

Since I already have a li'l widget slinging my LiveJournal posts over to FaceBook, and it appears that most, if not all, of my LiveJournal pals are also FaceBookWorms, I'm THINKING of ceasing to possess a LiveJournal and streamlining to the Other Thing.  What think? 

Breszny's 'scope, again, affirms exactly, precisely, deliciously what I was gonna do anyway! Cheers, Rob, for realz. (From http://ping.fm/vnMlL)

"LEO (July 23-Aug. 22): It might be tempting to turn your home into a womb-like sanctuary and explore the mysteries of doing absolutely nothing while clad in your pajamas. And frankly, this might be a good idea. After the risks you've taken to reach out to the other side, after the bridges you've built in the midst of the storms, after the skirmishes you've fought in the Gossip Wars, you have every right to retreat and get your homebody persona humming at a higher vibration. So I say: Be meticulously leisurely as you celebrate the deep pleasures of self-care."

Friday night I DJ'd a small Hallowe'en soirée on the East Side, and, moving in my tiny portable equipments, I initially felt a little, well, lame.  I still spin from a binder of CDs, and I hadn't exactly checked the tastes of the invitees before clambering into the room and throwing down.  I think I'm always a little cringed ahead of time that if I just play what I like to play, it won't suit the current tastes or the time, and I knew the guests were going to be 15 years my junior. The crowd was delightful, though, and they dug Big Beat, Europop and Electro, so I had fun making everyone jump up and down until they were worn out and scattered to the kitchen and lounge. 

Saturday night, on a whim, I checked Tiësto's site, knowing he's touring the Midwest currently, thinking, "Surely tomorrow's show will be sold out already." But it WASN'T. I snapped up four tickets and informed Jiggins, Kearnsie and Chloe that they'd be accompanying me to the Rave Sunday night.

On the run-up to the show, lots of little wonderings elbowed through my li'l brainwaves.  Does Milwaukee know who Tiësto is?  Are they aware of his monster prowess, effortless ease, and world mega-fame?  In short, will many people go?  If so, will I be the oldest person in the room?

The place was jammed, with jubilant kids of all ages.  We managed a corner of the VIP balcony most of the night.

And when the opening act, Dada Life, arrived to relieve the house-warmer, and they were slick and cool and devastatingly hotttt, and set up their minimal amounts of tiny portable equipments and unzipped their BINDER OF CDs, a warm happy glow enveloped me.  Dada Life scorched the room with voluminous boom, and I think we four had the best view.  We were up in the Lincoln Seats of the Rave, up in the balcony at the far northwest corner of the room, so instead of the monster house speakers, we got to enjoy the love thumping out of the stage monitors, so clean and balanced and nice.  And it was a thrill to watch Olle and Stefan work as a team -- they spun dizzy bass love.  The crowd was on fire, the room ablaze, all well with the world.

And then himself came on, legendary T, and everything exploded.  Totally ecstatic experience.  He started off with a couple of tracks from the new album Kaleidoscope, and then just Played, with a capital "P." What a joy to share his joy.  True bliss!  And chromosome-rattling bass all over the place.  

We had to make ourselves leave just as he was rolling a tsunami of boom, after his mashup featuring Bowie's "I Am the DJ," 'coz we have duties to which we must attend, others whom we must serve.  We dragged ourselves away just after midnight, sad to leave the boom behind, but vibrating with thumpitty joy from what had buffetted us for the past three hours.  Next time he hits town, I'll be taking a vacation day afterward so I can jump up and down with the delirious happy crowd until 2 a.m.

Oh -- and even the mighty delighty Tiësto unzipped and played from a humble binder of CDs.  Feeling a bit more authentic, having seen that!  Now to develop the courage to really mix.  I love music being played as an instrument.

(And I needn't have worried about being the oldest person in the room. There were plenty in the throngs who were definitely my seniors. And T himself is 40!)

I want to have a Jane the Phoole motley for each holiday season, and the one I'm working on currently is the Halloween gown. It's all orange and black, and I commissioned a special smile mask from the Official Maskers of Jane the Phoole, Semmerling & Schaefer Mask Studios (http://maskartists.com/). I never actually did a drawing or anything -- through an exchange of emails and Facebook messages with Mask Master Jeff Semmerling, during which I'd said Big Chunky Jack-o'-Lantern Teeth would be awesome, Jeff devised this brilliant grin. Now the rest of the ensemble has to live up to this fantastic detail! Order your smile today -- you're never Phoole-y dressed without a smile from Semmerling & Schaefer Mask Studios!

 (I originally clickety-clacked this as a response on a thread over at the Bristol Discussion Board, http://bristolboard.com/board , but I had so much fun composing it I thought I'd share it over here. It doesn't appear that I have previously disclosed anything on this blague regarding my modest collection of Barbarian Hordes, which is what I collected before I took up collecting the words "bad monkey" in foreign languages. Enjoy!)

At the moment I only really have two: Dark Cloud and their tiny-but-tenacious rival, the Nation of Ukhatar.

It all started two years ago when a Fantastickal whispered, ethereally (i.e. told me backstage), "There are some people in the parade who don't yell 'God Save the Queen.' It sounds like they're yelling something like 'All Hail Dark Cloud.'" I went and found the fellows, and offered to bribe them (some pittance, really; they were very acquiescent and actually quite nice and reasonable) if they'd say "All Hail Jane the Phoole" during the parade ten times instead of "All Hail Dark Cloud."

Their King, His Most Royal Majesty King Zavier, protested, "But we only say it twelve times overall!"

I suggested they say it 15 times, and make 10 of those "All Hail Jane the Phoole!"

Next day, reports came in that they were saying "All Hail Jane the Phoole!" all throughout the parade. So I made it my custom to hail them whenever I encountered them - "All Hail Dark Cloud!" - and they would thunder in response, "All Hail Jane the Phoole!", which suited me PERFECTLY.

This custom continues to this very day. In fact I look forward to visiting them at TRF some day to see if the allegiance survives the distance!

Meanwhile, shortly after acquiring Dark Cloud as my first Barbarian Horde, I was on my way down to the Priory at day's end to attend Her Grace during Audience when I encountered three guys on a bench near Grandmother Cob's web, all dressed in armor that looked very much like the kind purveyed by King Zavier and his Horde. So I greeted them: "All Hail Dark Cloud!"

They sneered and hissed, "We SPIT on Dark Cloud! We are their sworn enemies and will vanquish them in battle!"

Awkward! A gaffe of INTERNATIONAL proportions. I coughed politely, squirmed, and tried to amend: "Crying your most earnest and heartfelt pardons, I beg your forgiveness, noble guests. I am, after all, an idiot. Whom am I pleased and humbled here to greet?"

They bellowed, "We are the Nation of Ukhatar!"

I blinked. (You may imagine a "plink-plink" sound.) Then, smiling expansively, "Well met, my Lords. And you are the whole Nation of Ukhatar, the three of you gentlemen?"

They looked at me, then at one another, then at me. "We...ARE the Nation of Ukhatar!"

"Ah." I paused, thinking how well it would go over if I asked them how their rate of reproduction fared, given that there are three of them, and they're all butch-ish blokes, but I decided that could wait. While I considered, I noted the middle one of them wore a silver, pointy, rather twisty and scary crown. "And might it be gently and non-threateningly assumed that I am addressing none other than His Most Royal Majesty, the King of Ukhatar?"

The crowny chap sat up a bit taller. "I AM the King of Ukhatar!" His men grunted happy assent.

"Excellent, Your Majesty. And how are you called?"

They looked at me.

I entreated, "I mean, Your Grace, how shall I address Your Majesty?"

They kept looking at me. One of the men inclined his head slightly to the left.

I smiled kindly. "I am called JANE the Phoole, Queen of Jesters and Jester to Her Majesty, Queen ELIZABETH, Queen of England, Ireland, Wales, France, the Virginias et. al. And Your Majesty is King...?" I leaned forward, hopeful, hands spread wide.

They all exchanged looks again, and then His Majesty thundered, "I am the KING of UKHATAR!"

"I thank you, your Grace, for your patience with my stupidity and dwarfish scope of perception." I offered then to act as emissary from England to Ukhatar, but that seemed to puzzle and upset them only slightly more, so I reverted to the thesis of the entire meeting: "So...at war with Dark Cloud, are you? They your neighbors or something?" I entertained myself momentarily by imagining Dark Cloud as this vast, bleak, stepped blight of a country, haunted and windy and barren, with twisted dark dead trees and scorched fortresses and violated graves and a big pointy wall around it, and Ukhatar being these three guys poinking li'l flaming arrows against the battlements.

As could be predicted, they simply bellowed, "We are the SWORN ENEMIES of Dark Cloud!"

I sighed, realizing I wasn't going to draw them off of their script. "Look, Your Majesty, I have a lifetime of experience in International Espionage. If you want to work toward peace, or if you need help fighting, I'm really acquainted with those Dark Cloud fellows, so, you know, let me know. God be with Your Majesty; I must away to Her Grace; well met..." and I bowed and scooted away. As I descended the hill I heard them jostle each other and say, "We are the Nation of Ukhatar!"

The next weekend, I addressed myself to King Zavier. "Your Majesty, I hear you're at war!"

He laughed, then stopped. "Huh?"

"With the Nation of Ukhatar. Your sworn enemies."

He squinted, then rumbled, in his gruff Texan baritone, "Jane, you're not making any sense. I hear you usually don't, but -- what?"

I explained about the guys and their King and their phrases, and King Zavier stroked his beard and looked thoughtful.

I finally described their appearances: "They look like they either bought your armor, or possibly they tried to copy it at home, in their parents' basements, but they were of, um, SLIGHTER BUILD than you beefy fellows, and they looked a bit pale..."

A light ignited in His Majesty's eyes. "Oh, THOSE guys!" He threw back his head and guffawed. "Really? They're at war with us? Aw. Well, okay!"

I let him know I'd offered to spy for them, and if they wanted to return aggression, I'd be happy to double-agent the affair. King Zavier patted my shoulder and said they'd handle it. As I toddled off to whatever my Next Thing was, I heard him spreading the news to the rest of Dark Cloud, and enjoyed their surprised laughs.

Unfortunately, not much came of it, and a few weeks later I learned they'd made a peace accord, without my involvement! Well, it saved time, I suppose. The next year I saw Ukhatar again, and they had increased their population -- quadrupled it, in fact, but had not yet gotten any girls in the Nation; still all blokes. But they seem to be having fun, and that's really the name of the Barbarian Horde game. I was going to try to acquire Iron Wolf, but they're not strictly Barbarian -- didn't I learn from all those Brian Friel plays that the Celtic cultures were the Guardians of Knowledge and Learning during the Dark Ages? -- and anyway they seem to be devoted to the Earl of Northumberland, and I don't want to get mixed up in that Windows-Into-Men's-Souls Recusants-vs-Precisionists business any more than I already am. Maybe next time I'll try to acquire Barbarian Battles. They're very, very nice, and they look comfortable, and they don't seem to be at war with anyone until 4:30 every day, when all those kids get run over in Wyckham Field, which is fun.

I met one of my heroes last weekend. Rich Koz is a Chicago-area comedian and TV personality who, when I was a kid, hosted a Saturday-afternoon scary-movie show called SON OF SVENGOOLIE. I grew up watching Svengoolie's cheesy horror films interspersed by his hilarious supa-cheesy gags and sketches and catchphrases. His gig was a tremendous influence on me, I've realized. He's smart, he's got a giant comic lexicon, he's drawn from the best sources, and he isn't afraid to trade exclusively in groaners.

It was great to meet him as he signed autographs and posed for pictures with a long line of devoted fans winding through Six Flags Great America's Hometown Square on that freezy cold afternoon. I'd love to actually talk with Rich someday. His gigs are so much more widely culturally-relevant than mine; I envy him that, but at the same time of course I dig being the bizarrely-non-threatening mini-celeb I get to be too, using so many of the awful jokes I must have heard from him for the first time.

Some time ago I was enjoying a boisterous phone-guffaw with Etienne (http://veryfunny.com/) during which he told me he cringingly admired my gig, because of the way I stick with a "crappy fake RenFair British accent," even in the face of an Actual British Audience, and the way I rely on what he calls "joke-book jokes." I laughed my head off over that. Yeah, I guess I do! Phooligans leap to my defense at these charges, but it's gotta be admitted: No one is deceived by my gig, and I'm not blazing any trails to New Horizons In Innovative Humor Composition. I'm definitely an American freak in a gigantic tea-cozy, goading for groans with the worst possible punchlines that you don't realize you've heard before until it's too late.

But this material works for me -- I get laughs, break the ice with crowds with a bizarre, non-threatening character, and share amazing encounters. And Rich Koz as Svengoolie (and his cohorts Doug Graves and Zolman T. Tombstone Jr.) was one of the first people to show me that that was possible. Cheers, Sven!

 



The top picture shows my husband, Tom Charney, as the silly foreigner Fasso Latido, with his little brother, Pico, played by Phoole Friend RJ, who joins me in the next picture on the Day of Moustache Controversy -- a Tale Too Torrid and Tedious for Text! The last pic shows RJ and his sister, Phoole Friend Leigh, with me and Tom again, this time as Sir Ralph Sadleir, the Richest Commoner in England! Cheers to Phoole Friend Toby for the excellent photographic preservation of these fun times!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

From Phoole Friend Kurt Magoon comes news that his son's created a Guild of Jesters within World of Warcraft called The Phooligans!

 

I don't actually play the game myself -- I'm either not hip enough, or I'm terrified of all of my free time dissolving, or my real actual life is too fraught with conflict, or a myriad other excuses. But if you play this game, I understand the Phooligans reside on the Wyrmrest Accord Server, which must be an Extremely Fashionable and Entertaining Place Indeed.

 

Here is a screenshot of the leader of The Phooligans, Jayyn, in front of what I'm told is the well in Stormwind City:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Good Fun Times! If any of you play this game, and Jayyn and The Phooligans get up to any hijinks, I rely on you to Regale Me With Tales!

I'm either calling it "Birds" or "The Harbinger of Avian Death," though it's turned out much fluffier and less dire than I'd originally imagined.  This is a mix I've put together for Mary Hough, originally, and Stacy Hicks by proxy.

It all started when Hougher and I were leaving Six Flags' Great America a couple of years ago, and a bird sat in the middle of the road and refused to fly up.  "Fly up," Hougher grumbled.  "Fly up, " she then urged, to no avail as we bore down on the thing in her SUV.  "FLY UP!" she yelled in desperation, and it did -- but too late.  It destroyed itself at the top of her windshield and hurtled over the vehicle's roof to lie quite dead on the road behind us.  The event unsettled us both considerably.

Ever since that fateful day, nearly every time I've been in her car being driven by her somewhere, birds launch themselves in front of the vehicle, seemingly suicidal.  It's nerve-jangling!  The property transferred to Stacy's PT Cruiser (whose name is Loretta) when he gave me lifts after that.  Birds either sit in the road in front of the tires, refusing to save themselves, or suddenly fly in front of the rapidly-advancing grille, flinging themselves into death's relentless progress.

So I have put together some songs about birds, or songs by artists who are bird-y or have "bird" or some kind of birdy word in their name, or songs that mention birds in the lyrics.  And the result is Deeply Satisfying.  I will spend a week leveling out the volumes of the songs (by which I mean reducing or increasing the tracks' attenuations) to make sure the dynamics are only as jarring as necessary, and then I will deliver the dealios.  Here are the songs I have assembled:

Nine days' worth of things happened in the three days of the Bristol Renaissance Faire's closing weekend, but one of my favorite farewells happened to involve this sleepy li'l curmudgeon, our friend, Porkchop the Porpentine (which is a Porcupine, but 450 years ago).

On Monday, Bristol's closing day, I had been involved in hijinks that kept me close to the North side of town, and so as the shadows began to stretch into autumnal afternoon, I made a determined stomp Southward, to try to visit every neighborhood I'd neglected earlier in the day. Having already achieved my 100th language for "bad monkey" (full story later), I trundled through Shoplatch Lane, greeted people in the High Street, and reached the crossroads of The Frightening Bridge and the middle road in Traders' Wharf. I decided this might be my best chance to have one last beviewment of Porkchop before Fall carried Her Grace and Court off to Barkley Castle, so I swung over toward the Petting Farm.

The Farm was jammed with excited critters and happy children, and a longish line of people waited for a visit with the goats, piggies, lemurs, pastel skunklets, and fluffy wee Highland coo. I approached the lass tending the gate and asked if Porkchop were receiving guests -- I anticipated disappointment, as I knew he had been grumpy earlier that day and had received a "time-out," which is funny to me, 'coz you can't take the "chop" out of "Porkchop," can you?

She reported that Porkchop, alas, was napping, in a bucket, which is terribly cute of him you must admit. I smiled sadly and asked her to please tell him "goodbye" for me when he woke, and then thanked her and went on my way.

Mere steps away I encountered small crowds of well-wishers, wanting to know if I'd gotten 100 languages for "bad monkey" yet, and hoping the Queen was liking her birthday presents, and so forth, and I hadn't gotten more than a block away from the Petting Farm when I suddenly heard, "Jane!" We all looked up, and here was the Master of the Porpentine, hurtling toward us, a very sleepy Porkchop in his arms.

My eyes filled with happy tears, and a crowd whooshed in around us, marvelling at the slumbering so-soft-looking Porpentine. We all pet Porkchop, very tentatively like you do when you know that the fluffy fur hides a tiny painful pike-block, and I found myself rattling off every fact I knew about the Porpentine, sounding very much like an even sillier David Attenborough, as all gathered around and enjoyed the cute face and fluffulence of the dozing 'Tine.

Finally, I looked up at the handler and said, "You know, all this season we've made such an enormous fuss over Porkchop, celebrating him with tales and songs and pageantry, and yet, through all of it, I've been so thoughtless as to never ask your name!" He smiled and said he was called Jason. I addressed the company then, saluting Master Jason, Master of Porkchop the Porpentine, and regaling the crowd with how his tender care of the beast had brought him to the notice even of the Queen of England, and how Her Majesty had bade us gift him with the vambraces that protect Jason's arms from the monstrous chompers of the Porpentine.

Delighted by this last reunion, and grieved to part, I thanked Jason one more time for his patience with our silly obsession with this cutest of curmudgeonly creatures. We exchanged sad smiles, and I turned toward the North again, to bid a few more farewells before addressing myself to Her Grace for a last Bristol audience. But all the while the day lasted, I thought of Porkchop, the Porpentine of Bristol, and the joy he'd brought us with every prickle and every chomp during this Her Majesty's Royal Progress. Merry meet, merry Porkchop, and merry meet again!

In honor of Her Majesty's Natal Day, I would just like to give a Right Good Shout-Out to Her Grace, particularly as portrayed by the Bristol Renaissance Faire's Mary Kababik. I've loved playing Phoole to Mary's Queen for many, many years, and let me tell you something: If you've seen Mary play Elizabeth I once, you've seen her do it ONCE. She's the Lion's Cub quintessentially, with abrupt turns in mood, a ready wit, and the last laugh, always. And you let her, and not just because she's God's representative on earth -- she earns those laughs. Her punchlines are mighty this season, and she's made ME laugh more often, I think, than I've made her laugh this year. She is gracious, extremely sharing, incisive, cunning, tough and tender at once.

If you're visiting Bristol for the first time this weekend, make a particular point of spending time with the Queen and her Court. Mary Kababik has got to be one of the hardest-working, if not THE hardest-working, Queens in the Renaissance Faire Business, and she will share her time and glory with you. If you're a long-time Faire fan and have already visited many times this season, come behold Her Grace -- she's full of surprises, every single day, and keeps her Privy Councillors, her Favorites, and her Court on their toes with her vibrance, lightning wit and fierce fiery Tudor blood.

Have no doubt that Mary Kababik is one of the hardest-working women in show business. But if you engage her in close conversation, you'll also know that there's no one kinder, more gracious, and more sincere in encountering a Faire's guests. Come get some! Happy Natal Day on September 7, Your Majesty!

(This is kept and updated at http://badmonkeylog.blogspot.com/.)

I'm only a fool, and I only really speak English, French and Italian, and I've learned these from people I've met while being very silly, so it's possible many of these are so wrong that you'll laugh your face completely off over how wrong they are. Please tell me if they're wrong and I'll fix them!
Note: I only add "bad monkeys" to this list after I have personally met someone who has told me how to say "bad monkey" in a new language. I don't just troll online translator-bots! After learning a "bad monkey" from an actual person, I will sometimes ask teh interwebz to assist me in presenting the written characters correctly, but most of this information comes from people meeting Jane the Phoole and schooling her in new languages for "bad monkey."

Afrikaans: (sounds like "STO-teh ka-BO-teh," but I'm not sure how to spell it)

Albanian: majmun i keg (my-MOON ee KAYSHE)

American Sign Language: ("bad" - touch fingertips of one hand to lips, palm downward; then move hand swiftly downward and away, so that palm faces away from body; "monkey" - mime scritching yourself on your sides with your hands curled, like a monkey's, and make a chimpy face!)

Arabic (Colloquial): (sounds like "curd saEEa," where the initial "c" is glottal, and the final "a" stops glottally)

Arabic (Egyptian): (sounds like "sa-DAHN WAY-heesh")

Arabic (Palestinian): (sounds like "ehrd sadAHN")

ASCII in Binary: 01000010 01100001 01100100 00100000 01001101 01101111 01101110 01101011 01100101 01111001

Basque (Euskara): gaitz tximino

Bengali: kharap bandor (KAH-rahp BAHN-dor)

Bosnian: (sounds like LOSH MY-moon, but I would be most obliged to someone who speaks Bosnian if it could be written for me.)

Braille:




Bulgarian: лош маймуна (LOSH-a my-MOON-a, where the "o" in "LOSH-a" sounds like the "o" in "love")

Cantonese: (sounds like "HWAI HOH-gee," where the tone begins high on the first part of the first syllable, dips low for the second part of the first syllable, then begins low and rises through the second syllable, and the third syllable is simply aspirated )

Carney: bizzad mizzonkey

Cherokee: uYi ac>sfIsf (ooh yoh ee ah dah lay sss gee yee sss)

Chinese: (sounds like "HWAI HOH-tze," where the tone begins high on the first part of the first syllable, dips low for the second part of the first syllable, then begins low and rises throug the second syllable, and the third syllable is simply aspirated)

Colombian: mico malo

Cornish: drog sym (with the "r"s rolled a bit)

Creole: makak mechen (ma-KOK may-SHONH)

Croatian: loš majmun (LOSH MY-moon)

Czech: zlé opice (ZWAH OH-pizza)

Danish: dårlige abe (I need a Danish person to say this for me, please.)

Dutch: (sounds like "schtout apyeh")

Esperanto: malbona makako

Estonian: paha ahv (PA-ha AF)

Euskara: (see Basque)

Filipino: pangit amo

Finnish: paha apina (PA-ha AHP-ee-na) or huono apina (HWO-no AHP-ee-na)

French: singe méchant (SANZH may-SHAWNT, sort of, without much of that "t" at the end at all)

Gaelic: moncai dona

Galician: mal macaco

German: schlechter affe (SCHLECCH-tuh AHFF-uh)

Greek (Ancient): κακός πίθηκος (ka-KOS PEE-thay-kos, with long "o"s like in "toast")

Greek (Modern): κακός πίθηκος (ka-KOS PEE-thee-kos, with long "o"s like in "toast")

Hausa (Chad): mugu biri

Hawaiian: maka'i 'ole keko

Hebrew: קוף רע (kof rrrah)

Highlanders (a dialect of Polish distinct enough to be considered its own language by its speakers): nie dobro małpo (sounds like "NYAY DOHbroh MOWpoh," where"OW" is like "owl")

Hindi: (sounds like "to-FA-nee VAHN-da-ro") or (sounds like "tahng kar-NAY-ka BAHN-dar") or (sounds like"BOO-ra BAHN-dar")

Hmong: (sounds like "LEE-a PEY")

Hungarian: rossz majom (ROHS ma-YOHM)

Icelandic: illur api (ILLuhr AHpee, sing-song-y)

Ilongo (spoken in the Phillippines): (sounds like"TOHNto nga-amOH")

Indian (Gujarati): (sounds like "LOO-cho VAHN-da-ro")

Indonesian: nakál oráng hútan

Irish: drock monkey

Italian: scimmia cattiva (SHIMM-ya caht-TEEV-a)

Japanese: 悪い猿 (sounds like "wah-RU-ih sa-RU")

Jugoslav: (sounds like LOSH MY-moon; would someone who speaks Jugoslav please write it for me?)

Klingon: mughato' qab

Korean: 나쁜 원숭이 (NA-poon on-soong-HEE)

Latin: simius malus

Lebanese: (sounds like "sahDEEN majNOON," where the "j" is like the "z" in "Zsa Zsa Gabor")

Lithuanian: blogas beždžionių (BLOW-ga bez-JOIN-ya)

Macedonian: (sounds like LOSH MYmoon)

Marathi (spoken in some places in India): (sounds like"DUSHtah mahKAHRD," where the "r" is tapped very, very lightly)

Mongolian: muu sarrmagchien (MOOOO [sustained just a bit longer than you'd expect] sahrr-mak-CHEEN,where the "rr" is rolled)

Montenegran: (sounds like LOSH MY-moon; could someone from Montenegro kindly write it?)

Morse Code: -... .- -.. -- --- -. -.- . -.--

Norwegian: dårlig apekatt (could a Norwegian person please pronounce this for me?)

One: nerra prem

Pashto: بد شاه بلوطونه پخيدل (could someone who speaks Pashto please pronounce this for me?)

Phillippine: pangit amo

Pidgin (Papua New Guinea): nogut mani

Pig Latin: adbay onkeymay

Persian (Farsi): ميمون بد (sounds like "my-MOON eh BAHD," but I'm not sure how to spell it)

Polish: Attention: There are five ways to say "bad monkey" in Polish!
(1) nie dobra małpa (nyay DOHbra MOW-pa, where the"OW" is like "owl")
(2) zła małpa (zwah MOW-pa)
(3) gwupia małpa (GWOO-pya MOW-pa)
(4) niegrzeczna małpa (nyeg-ZHECH-na MOW-pa)
(5) vredna małpa

Portuguese in Brazil: macaco mau (muh-KA-co MAU)

Portuguese in Portugal: huim macaco / tehibo macaco (HWEEM muh-KA-co / te-HEE-bo muh-KA-co)

Romanian: maimuţă rea (my-MOO-teh RREAH, with the "r"s rolled)

Russian: плохая обезьянка (plo-CHAH-ya oh-beets-YAH-na, where that "CH" sound is not like "church" but is more like delicious "challah" bread)

Sanskrit: (sounds like DOOSH-tah KAH-pee)

Serbian: лош мајмун (LOSH MY-moon)

Shona (Zimbabwe): There are several ways to say "bad monkey" in this language:
shoko yakaipa (SHO-ko yah-kah-EE-pa) or shoko yakashata (SHO-ko yah-kah-sha-ta)
tsoko yakaipa (TSO-ko, the t isn't silent, yah-kah-EE-pa ) or tsoko yakashata (TSO-ko yah-kah-sha-ta)
gudo yakaipa (gU-doh yah-kah-EE-pa)
gudo yakashata (gU-doh yah-kah-sha-ta)
(Courtesy Sara Mock's friend from Zimbabwe, who tells me that there's no general word for "monkey" in Shona; shoko and tsoko refer to a velvet monkey, and gudo indicates a baboon, but Shona speakers will use "monkey" and "baboon" interchangeably.)

Slovak: zlé opice (ZWAH OH-pizza)

Spanish in Mexico: chango malo (CHAHN-go MAH-lo)

Spanish in Spain: mono malo (MOH-no MAH-lo)

Swahili: tumbili mbaya (toomBEElee mBAHyah) (Caution: if used in an improper context, can also mean "undead zombie monkey." Use with care!)

Swedish: dålig apa (DOH-lick OW-pa, with the "OW"sounding like "owl" again - really means "poorly functioning monkey," and you must ask Jane about it sometime)
Update! elak apa (AY-lahk OW-pa) is Swedish for "naughty monkey," I have learned since my encounter with the Prince of Sweden. Do not, however, allow this new knowledge to dissuade you from enquiring about the whole "poorly-functioning monkey" affair.

Syrian: (sounds like "CHEIRba MYmoon," where the initial "ch" is not like "church" but instead like tasty sweet "challah" bread, and where of course the "r" is rolled.)

Tagalog (spoken in the Philippines): (sounds like "sa-BA-hey ohn-GOY")

Taiwanese: (sounds like "pai gkow," where the "ow" is like "owl," and the tone is high for the first syllable, then EXTREMELY LOW for the second syllable, and the "gk"is nearly glottal)

Telugu (spoken in a southeastern region of India): picchi kothi (PEE-chee KOH-tee)

Thai: ลิงไม่ดี (sounds like "ling mai dee mock ma" - must be spoken very quickly with a nasal intonation!)

Turkish: kötü maymun (KOH-too my-MOON)

Ukrainian: погана Мавпочка (po-HA-na MAHV-pa)

Urdu: bura bandar (BOO-ra BAHN-dar)

Vietnamese: con khi xâu (KOHN key SO)

Yiddish: שלעכט מאַלפּע shlekht malpe (shlekht MAL-peh)

Welsh: mwnci drwg (MOON-key DROOG) or simach drwg (SEE-mock DROOG)

Zaarma (spoken in Nigér, an African country north of Nigeria): fono laalo (FOH-no LAH-lo) 

I will read this stack of books I've started, for one thing.  I've gobbled several chapters of each of the books listed below, and then been interrupted by work, laundry, a weekend of being Jane the Phoole (who is much too easily distracted to finish a book), and then two days of drooling after that, and then it starts over.  So these are the books I need to finish reading:

THE TOWER OF LONDON, William Ainsworth Harrison
THE PIRATES! IN AN ADVENTURE WITH NAPOLEON, Gideon DeFoe
Stephen Fry's INCOMPLETE AND UTTER HISTORY OF CLASSICAL MUSIC
THE BRIEF WONDROUS LIFE OF OSCAR WAO, Junot Diaz
101 HAND PUPPETS, Cummings
ME, CHEETA, Cheeta the Chimp
MACACHIAVELLIAN INTELLIGENCE, Dario Maestripieri

I do mean to finish every one of these, hopefully before the end of September, because October is for reading SOMETHING WICKED THIS WAY COMES again, and also the mad sillinesses of SpookyWeen.

 

Help me learn how to say "bad monkey" in 13 more languages before September 7!

A list of the languages I've already attained is here: http://badmonkeylog.blogspot.com/. If you think you have a language I haven't already got, please check this list first -- I do already have Pig Latin, thanks awfully, most kind really! But there are SO MANY I haven't got yet, and from those, I only need 13 more to make it to 100 before Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth I's birthday next Monday!

Here's a list of some languages I don't yet have:

Chinese Variants:
Wu
Yue
Min Nan
Jinyu
Xian
Hakka
Gan

Arabic Variants:
Algerian
Moroccan
Saidi
Sudanese
North Levantine
Mesopotamian

Javanese
Tamil
Malayalam
Kannada
Oriya
Sunda
Eastern and Western Punjabi
North and South Azerbaijani
Bhojpuri
Maithili
Burmese
Awadhi
Yoruba
Sindhi
Uzbek
Malay
Amharic
Igbo
Nepali
Saraiki
Cebuano
Assamese
Chittagonian
Madura
Sinhala
Haryanvi
Marwari
Magahi
Chhattisgarhi
Deccan
Belarusan

There are many others I don't have as well; will try to post a bigger wish list when time presents. A list of top 100 languages by population appears at http://www.davidpbrown.co.uk/help/top-100-languages-by-population.html .

Cheers for any new "bad monkeys" you can send my way!

Porpentine Fascination Continues Unabated, and Sunday afternoon's excursion was a blissful delight. I found myself in Newmarket, chatting away with patrons from around the world (met even more Russian, Bulgarian, Polish and Lithuanian guests this weekend), when the Master of the Porpentine brought the crotchety critter over from the Petting Farm and Let It Run Around On Its Own, right on the grass, amidst the excited patrons! It made a beeline for one woman's leg and began immediately to nom her, which terrified me utterly, but the woman insisted that it was fine, and that her cat bites her with more ferocity, and she just sat there and let the obstreperous spiny beast chomp away at her ankles and calves, much to the horror of her very young daughter, who squealed in fear and gathered her legs up onto the bench, out of reach of the Porpentine's mighty incisors. He then turned his ire on the bench itself, chewing at it with ferocity, for he is compelled constantly to chew and chew. A large crowd amassed -- some thirty people -- all standing about wondering at the voracious chew-need of the Porpentine. And I just plopped on the ground, perfectly happy, watching people enjoy the Porpentine, and delighting in its grumpy antics myself. The Master of the Porpentine, arms clad in the Excalibur Leather bracers we'd gifted him, seized the Porpentine then and flipped him on his back on the ground, and the Porpentine APPEARED TO LIKE BEING INVERTED! He displayed his belly, seemingly happily and calmly, which surprised everyone, and the Master of the Porpentine said, "Quick, pet him now before he flips back over," and we fairly dove at the thing, all petting his soft underbelly fur and admiring his prosh giant back-feet paw pads. Eventually he righted himself, and, just as surprisingly, whirled about rapidly about ten times, just spinning like a pincushion possessed, and it made no sense at all, which is exactly what one wants on a cool bright Sunday afternoon. Then it went back to finding things to chomp, streaking toward a young lad in knee-high brown leather boots, wrapping his little arms around the calf and nomming him ferociously! The Porpentine was completely strange and delightful out in the open, and I wish Lord Leycester and Egads had been there to witness his surly rampage amongst patrons' legs.

Friends, every time we laugh together, you show me how important a visit with Jane the Phoole is for your Renaissance Faire trip! Now I need your help again reminding the Powers That Be at the Bristol Renaissance Faire that you like playing with me when you come out to the Faire.

Kindly take a moment and click http://www.renfair.com/bristol/interactive/feedback.php and let them know Jane the Phoole's one of your favorite things about their show.

(For what it's worth, if you're a Person Who Spends A Great Deal of Money at the show, it might be interesting to mention in your comments that you do so! This potentially increases your comments' accessibility for People Who Only Understand Numbers.)

Bristol's a beautiful place, and I've greatly enjoyed my 20 seasons there so far. Help me add to those by letting The Powers know you enjoy Jane the Phoole!

I should have seen it sooner. I should have seen it NINE OR TEN TIMES. THAT is how much this production delighted me. It's only running tomorrow through Sunday, and then it's gone, so catch it: http://ping.fm/meXtG

Dramatist Mark Brown's view to the whirlwind world of Phileas Fogg and the devoted Passepartout is Exactly What I Like. It's huge, broad, and hilarious, stretching the dynamics to the extreme on one end so the tenderness of quieter moments is what's surprising.

The sets are inventive and applause-deserving, the clothes charming, the 5-person cast precious and screamingly hilarious in their 39 or so different characters.

I sat in the second row and laughed my face -- yes -- COMPLETELY OFF. But the third row was ALSO full of loud laughers, so it was charming not to be the only howler in the house.

Matt Daniels really is a ride by himself, playing EXCEEDINGLY well with others, but I think you'll agree his Raised Eyebrow should probably get separate, equal billing, and he should probably obligate it by special contract to not go off and have its own career. Dang. I definitely get the Matt Daniels thing, everyone. Very. Serious. Eyebrow. His focus is laser-hot, and every tableau exploits his delightful height, balanced proportions and long strides to immense general benefit. And after you see it, and we meet for a chat-chug-n-chew to yammer about how much we've loved the show, I know we'll jointly bellow, "THE TEACUP!"

Everyone in the show's brilliant, even the Noh-style visible leather-apronned begoggled helpers, even the scrumptious inanimate objects I coveted everywhere from the set. I enjoyed every player's heightened style, broad deliveries, ensemble big-picture listening, set-slams on the cheep laffs, and, oh, all of it! Milwaukee Scene Types will say, "Oh, IT'S TOO TRENDY AND OVERDONE to love Norman Moses," and that is Just Too Bad, 'coz he's hilarious, and you're all just going to have to get over yourselves and laugh. He Has Skeelz. Also, if Passepartout goes missing, check my handbag. I'm just saying.

See it! And then let us go have a good bellow about it. See it before it's gone!