Fritinancy

The Wind Beneath My Wings

Time for another episode of Slang Terms for Unwanted Body Features! (Need to review? Go here.) This week the term is "bingo wings," which I encountered for the first time in this blog post over at The Thoughtful Dresser. None of the commenters expressed puzzlement over the usage, so perhaps I'm late to the party. Here's the Wikipedia definition, which (shock!) is not notable for its objectivity:

Bingo wings is a slang term used to describe the build-up of fat and or flaccid muscle that hangs from the underside of the upper arms. It occurs most frequently in elderly ladies and overweight people. The problem may also occur after significant weight loss, with flaps of loose skin remaining. The term apparently originated from the bingo hall custom of raising one's arm aloft and bellowing "House!". This ties in due to bingo long being the entertainment of choice for large numbers of elderly ladies, especially in the United Kingdom.

Especially in the United Kingdom? Wow, that's really news to me. Who knew bingo was so big over there? On the other hand, are we even talking about the same bingo? Here's what I'm talking about:

I'm picturing multiple gridded cards, randomly selected balls, a caller ("B-54! G-16!"), and an array of lucky fetish objects lined up in front of each player's playing area.

But in my version of bingo--the Las Vegas version, the Reno version, the church-fundraiser version--nobody bellows "House!" The only word to bellow is, of course, "Bingo!"*

So maybe the UK bingo is this game, also known as housie or housey:

This looks scarily like the inscrutable Sudoku to me, so I'm just going to tiptoe away.

There's also a card game called bingo. News to me, but my card-playing expertise reached its peak with Go Fish.

Back to the wings. It's not as though I've never seen the phenomenon or heard it described--just not in this very evocative way. I've heard "underarm flaps," which is accurate if a bit pedestrian. And I've heard "bat wings," which sounds so much uglier and less jovial than "bingo wings." Besides, "bingo wings" has that charming little internal rhyme that makes the condition seem almost cute.

Not to a plastic surgeon, though. If you're unhappy with your bingo wings, you may want to consult someone like this for a "procedure"--a brachioplasty, to use the term of art.

Hey, he'll probably do a FUPA-plasty, too.

___

* "Bingo" is also a term in Scrabble: it's a play in which all seven tiles are used, earning the player a bonus of 50 points. I never knew this until I started playing computer Scrabble.

Eat Play Love

Not necessarily in that order:

But oh, woe, it's out of stock.

Merci beaucoup to Verbatim.

Scrabble for Cheaters

Ever wish you could change the rules in Scrabble to include more blank tiles or made-up words? Here's your big chance: Scrabble for Cheaters, "a tournament of verbal smarts and fraudulence," is now accepting entries for two-person teams. For a paltry $50 you can buy your team any vowel; for $250 you can add a Q, X, or Z. All proceeds benefit 826NYC, a nonprofit organization that helps kids ages 6 to 18 become better writers.

The rules:

• Each team must have 2 players.
• Each team must have a team name.
• Each team must dress like a team on the day of the tournament.
• Each team must arrive at least 30 minutes before noon on the day of the tournament.
• Each cheat may only be used once. Cheats will be issued on tournament day.
• If you can't stand the blatant deception, trash talking, and foul play, try Yahtzee.
• Turns are timed. You have 2 minutes to play a word. Games are over after 1 hour.
• Cheating is highly encouraged.
• Winner must gloat.

The contest will be held Saturday, Jan. 19, at noon, in Park Slope, Brooklyn. Limited to 32 teams, but you can also participate by sponsoring a team.

I'm not planning to fly across the country to compete, but if 826 Valencia (which is affiliated with 826NYC) ever decides to hold a Bay Area tournament, my cheatin', gloatin' heart will be there. 

(Via Jason Kottke.)

(Image, via Adverblog, from a 2006 French ad campaign promoting the national Scrabble tournament. I want a framed poster!)

Words on Screens

"Communication is the transfer of emotion," writes Seth Godin in "Really Bad Powerpoint."

Communication is about getting others to adopt your point of view, to help them understand why you’re excited (or sad, or optimistic or whatever else you are.) If all you want to do is create a file of facts and figures, then cancel the meeting and send in a report.

Seth lays down the law: No more than six words per presentation slide. No cheesy images. No sound effects that came with the program (rip and burn your own, he says). And no bullets ever.

This is Seth Godin talking, the bald, oracular marketing guru who commands huge speaking fees (I've attended one of his presentations; Seth does Really Good PowerPoint) and is quoted fawningly all over the blogosphere. When Seth talks, business leaders snap to attention and salute. But will a lecture from Seth change their pathetic PowerPointing habits? Not a damn chance. They're too scared, too ovine, too unimaginative. And too unlikely to team up with the very people who might save their reputations: writers and designers.

Here's an example of how PowerPoint might be done brilliantly. VidLit isn't strictly a presentation format; it's a book-marketing medium. Company founder Liz Dubelman spent ten years in film and television production and got the idea for VidLit while listening to This American Life, the National Public Radio program that's been described as "like movies for radio." VidLit is like music videos for books. Dubelman and her crew record authors reading snippets of their work and add original music and Flash animation to create, in Dubelman's deadpan words, "a compelling new form of entertainment." Her first creation was her own short-short story, Craziest, about her Scrabble obsession. She became briefly famous when a VidLit (or YidLit) for Yiddish with Dick and Jane attracted so much attention that she and the book's publisher were sued by the publisher of the original Dick and Jane books. Nothing like a lawsuit to fire up the fame engines. Now playing on the VidLit site are clever little teasers for The Dictionary of Corporate Bullshit, by Lois Beckwith; Don't Get Too Comfortable, by "This American Life" regular David Rakoff; and--my current favorite--Consider the Lobster, by David Foster Wallace. And many, many others.

So what can corporate presenters learn from VidLit? Plenty. Notice how the images in a VidLit don't politely mirror the words being spoken. They play peekaboo with the words, tweak their noses, run circles around them. Notice how the soundtrack creates an instant "going-to-the-movies" vibe. (Hey, this isn't a meeting--it's entertainment!) Notice how the narrators never say "um," or "let's see if this thing is working." And notice how you feel after you've watched a VidLit. Yep. It's a "transfer of emotion."

That's communication.

What I Want for Chanukah

One of these Scrabble-tile benches from Stephen Reed Industrial Design, a London firm.

I'd have guessed the benches were created for some trendy ad agency. But no: they're in the London office of Bloomberg Financial Services.

Actually, I want everything on the Stephen Reed "Projects" page. Don't miss the Soft Spot Table.

Via BoingBoing.