Week 601: The Judge Steps In (It)

My great great great great great grand daughter, Miss Allison, usually tends to the bi-weekly festivities at Literally Stories, but her continuous state of despair has created a temporary state of mental paralysis brought on by the conspicuous consumption of apple jack on an empty stomach, heart and soul. Therefore she beseeched Yours Truly, Judge Jasper P. Montague, Quillemender Spirit, to fill in for her this bi-week.

Versatur Circa Quid!

I was born in the early 19th century in Hanged Crone, Massachusetts and for over seventy years I served the populace as a Judge in Wiccanfire County. Although the superstitious misunderstandings of the previous era had eased by the time I was admitted to the bar, the names of the places retained their somewhat anti-witch flavor. Regardless, I must admit that I did preside over a few “enchantment” cases, which were easily resolved when the litigants were asked whether they would prefer to come to an amicable accord (which usually involved a small fine) or prove their purity by taking their chances inside a burlap sack tossed off the Harpo Bridge into the Wassamatter River.

Versatur Circa Quid!

Such Solomonesque presidings moved my fellow bar fellows to present me with a gold gilt gavel upon my retirement after nearly seven decades on the bench. Versatur Circa Quid! Is engraved into the fine object. I was informed by a clergyman who helped me to refresh my memory of Latin over applejack in the public house that it meant “what comes round goes round.” Although I admit to being somewhat nonplussed by the idiom, I am certain that it means something wonderful, perchance even divine about my conduct, and I have cherished it for well over a hundred and fifty years. In fact, since 1902 it has been my office, so to speak, although I am allowed to go thirteen paces from it whenever it pleases me to do so. It is the header image this week, usurping the foul Fowl, who will return the next bi-week. Its esteemed sitting (the gavel, not the Bird) place is atop Miss Allison’s stunningly untidy desk. The gavel was also the “accidental” instrument of my demise at the age of 96. I shan’t go into the details, but for a closer look into my magnificence there will be a link to an article, which, for the most part, addresses my fascinating, ongoing existence as a Quillemender Spirit.

Versatur Circa Quid!

One needs a flair for language and a rather high IQ to be a Quill. Ah, the affliction of constantly being “over qualified” does esteem me amongst the doltage. But grieve not over your slackjawed deficiencies. If it were not having someone to feel inferior to then you would not need to set objectives. My brilliance starts easy enough. My distant kin opens an article and types in gibberish, which I transform into brilliance. As I have performed today.

Alack and alas, I see my great great great great grand daughter has regained both a pulse and the faintest gleam of intellect in her eyes. I shall generously return control of this project to her inferior hand.

Versatur Circa Quid!

Judge Jasper P. Montague, Quillemeder, Most Serene and Supreme

The Week That Was

I suppose I should thank the ancient blackguard for filling in, but since he was the one who suggested that I type a bunch of X’es then swallow a quart of the fine fluid, I suspect duplicity on his part. Then again, I didn’t have to make that choice–but-but then-then again-again, I’ve never chosen a different path when such a choice has been presented to me previously. As it goes with the quick and the dead we are all the guilty party.

At least we have good writing to look back at. And that began on Sunday with the rerun of Anne Marie Potter’s fantastic The Binturong Blues. It began with one of the finest sentences you will ever want to read and not for a second–the time it takes to type a comma–did it lose energy, humour or creative intelligence. It is one of the funniest things we have ever run and we are damn proud to have it in the stacks.

It is extremely rare when we run into consecutive stories that contain some of the funniest mental images ever created (and I do not feel that I have exaggerated). But such was the case when Mark Grace presented The Fourteenth Victim. Due to the fact that there is a shameful sum of folks who have yet to read it (please fix that, readers), I am here dying to describe a great image created by Mark that I cannot get out of my head (nor do I wish it gone). You will see what I would like to leave here in the comments about the story.

Only one frequent contributor appeared this week, and by frequent I mean plenty. A Life Well Lived by our friend Michael Bloor underscores both Mick’s grasp of language and the human heart. He has a tremendous naturalistic tongue, which has been trained by listening and remembering. Not to be missed.

Wee Florrie by Ian Ibbetson is a delightful and funny look at murder (if such can be described as delightful and funny outside of this “wee” missive). The title character is a formidable and entertaining soul. As it goes with Crime writing (which at its soul this is), readers of the genre will examine the evidence, while the rest of us will simply let it happen to us. Yet I feel that even when one looks for plot holes that the same one will enjoy this work regardless

On Thursday Billy Medina-Gleason brought us Cordova, AK 1990. I remember the disaster at the center of this story well. It ruined a lot of lives, wild and “civilized”. Unless one is prepared to present an encyclopedia-long tome on the subject, the best thing to do is select little moments associated with it, such as the chilly receptions as the various banks. Billy scored very well in a subject that probably won’t be completely over for another five hundred years.

Ryan Scribner closed the week with Specificity. Now, I’m no fan of works that make me feel like a dumbbell–and for a moment there this one did just that. But it all worked out and I am happy to say that Scribner has a real talent for bringing forth past knowledge and giving the reader a fresh point of view. At first the give and take more bounced off my head than went over, but the cadence of the piece fell into my mind and I wound up enjoying it immensely.

Well there they are. I could go on with the usual patter, but I really doubt anything I can say will move anyone to read when their heart is set against doing so. Still, you really ought to. These works will make your experience a little better, if only for a little while.

Extra Notes:

Bi-Word of the Bi-Week: Cully (verb) to cheat or trick.

Bonus Bi-Word, for the Judge : Transmorgrify (verb) To greatly change [like Quilling], often to comic effect

Botched Word or grammar of the Bi-Week: continuous v constant. A troublesome thing for me because I could not remember which one literally means without break (continuous) and which one means extremely frequent (constant). Finally I got it set in my mind that the eternal flame on JFK’s grave is continuous and the sound of my ugsome neighbor downstairs going out for a smoke and spitting in his disgusting way is constant. Though wordy, my strange mnemonic has taken root.

The List of the Bi-Week

During a recent conversation between story evaluations, Diane mentioned feeling traitorous for liking a newer version of a classic song better. I know the feeling, and I am happy to say that a list was born.

• The Sound of Silence: Disturbed (surpassing Paul and Art, but since Paul wrote it he cashes most of the checks)
• Hallelujah: Is there a more covered song nowadays? I like Jeff Buckley’s rendition best
• Dear Prudence: Suzie and the Banshees (This took a real long time to get over, but I think it has)
• Heroes: Motorhead (something profoundly lost in a dying Lemmy’s voice)
• The Man Who Sold the World-Nirvana (but like number 4, Bowie’s estate grows even more)
• As Tears Go By : Marianne Faithful over the Stones
• House of the Rising Sun-Vanilla Fudge over The Animals
• Come Together-Areosmith bests the fab four
• Whiskey in the Jar–I like Thin Lizzy best here, though Metallica did well. But the thing for me is the Dubliner’s version is such great Irish folk that it is a completely different song–for me both are originals even though it is the same song
• My Way–Sid Vicious easily over Francis Albert

(Suggestions are always welcomed. Also I’d say that George Michael’s version of Queen’s Somebody to Love at the Concert For Freddy and any one of Linda Ronstadt’s early rock covers qualify for honorable mention).

Leila (and, sigh, the Judge, here’s his L.S. origin, from 2019: Versatur Circa Quid!)

Oh, and for the bi-week obituary, here we go for one of the world’s great “Tiny Elvises” Superstar Bill Dundee who died at 82. This is from a day when fake punches like from “Bruno” were often caught on camera, when wrestling was fun to watch, before big money killed it. Bill’s opponent would someday become “The Undertaker.” R.I.P. Superstar.

I close with a picture from the 9-11 Memorial located just down the street from my home. No words can ever suffice the suffering felt that day or the courage displayed by many.