What's A Mountweazel?
Stories
Object:
Contents
"What's a Mountweazel?" by Frank Ramirez
"The Argument" by Keith Hewitt
* * * * * * *
What's a Mountweazel?
by Frank Ramirez
Colossians 2:6-15 (16-19)
See to it that no one takes you captive through philosophy and empty deceit….
-- Colossians 2:8
Consider the story of Lillian Virginia Mountweazel. She was born in 1942 in Bangs, Ohio, and grew up to become a noted photographer whose fame rests on her book Flags Up, featuring photographs of rural mailboxes. Alas, she died in an explosion while on a photo assignment for Combustables magazine. She was only 31 at the time.
Want to know more? Then go to New Columbia Encyclopedia, the edition of 1975, and look for page 1,850. It's all there.
And it's all false. She never existed. Her story was totally fabricated, a false entry designed to catch other encyclopedists who might be tempted to copy information from New Columbia, perhaps just changing the order of a few words, and then claiming it as their own research.
False entries in dictionaries, encyclopedias, and trivia collections are designed to catch you up in case you decide to cheat and copy right out of the, you know, like my teacher said. As a matter of fact, words like "esquivalience" that can be found in the second edition of the New Oxford American Dictionary, are referred to as Mountweazels.
The definition of esquivalience in case you're wondering is "the willful avoidance of one's official responsibilities." It comes from the French esquiver, which according to the dictionary means "dodge" or "slink away."
And of course it's as phony as Mountweazel because it is a Mountweazel.
The authors of "The Golden Turkey Awards," about the worst movies of all time, made it clear that one of the movies in the book was phony, in order to keep other authors honest. As it turns out it was "Dog of Norway," starring Muki the Wonder Dog.
Remember the game Trivial Pursuit? The makers got caught. On one card you read the question: "What is Lieutenant Columbo's first name?" Turn the card over and you learn the answer was "Philip."
Which of course is wrong! Columbo's first name was never revealed, but it had been included in another trivia collection as a phony entry designed to catch others who might not do their own research. This led to a lawsuit later thrown out on a technicality.
There are fake cities on maps, such as the fake Ohio towns of Goblu and Beatosu in a 1978 map of Michigan (just sound them out and you'll see). There are also false plant and animal entries, such as the "Steinlaus" or "stone louse," an animal that eats rocks, in a German medical encyclopedia. In that last instance the publisher removed the reference after it was discovered but had to put it back it because it was so popular with the readers!
Keep in mind these are just some of the Mountweazel's that have been discovered. It is hard to believe that there aren't others, imbedded not only in printed dictionaries, encyclopedias, reference works, trivia collections, and baseball statistics, but in websites cataloging acres of information. See to it that no one takes you captive through philosophy and empty deceit -- and cite your sources.
Is there a biblical Mountweazil? Is there a Study Bible, or a translation, or edition that has, embedded deep in 1 Chronicles, a name or event that was placed there to catch plagiarists? Probably not. Who would be taken in by Second Jonah or Third Corinthians? The warning in Revelation (I warn everyone who hears the words of the prophecy of this book: if anyone adds to them, God will add to that person the plagues described in this book... 21:18) will probably discourage someone from messing with the word of God. Besides, there's no reason for a Christian to fail to adequately cite all sources!
But all the same, you really ought to cite your sources. Don't quote something verbatim off an internet encyclopedia without giving them credit. Besides, it never hurts to do a little original research.
(By the way, the sources for this StoryShare are the Wikipedia article "Fictitious Entry" and "Not A Word" by Henry Alford in the August 29, 2005 issue of The New Yorker.)
Frank Ramirez has served as a pastor for nearly 30 years in Church of the Brethren congregations in Los Angeles, California; Elkhart, Indiana; and Everett, Pennsylvania. A graduate of LaVerne College and Bethany Theological Seminary, Ramirez is the author of numerous books, articles, and short stories. His CSS titles include Partners in Healing, He Took a Towel, The Bee Attitudes, three volumes of Lectionary Worship Aids, and Breakdown on Bethlehem Street.
The Argument
by Keith Hewitt
Psalm 85
The living room door opened slowly, hinges complaining softly, and the air that swept past it into the room was cold. It stopped, about half-open, still shielding whoever was opening it from view. Marge Randall looked up from the book in her hands, toward the door she had been studiously ignoring -- just as she had ignored the sounds of the car door and the feet crunching in snow on the sidewalk -- and waited. Long moments passed, and then a stocking cap appeared.
It seemed to be floating, at first, before she spotted the slender stick -- it might have been a car antenna -- holding it up. It moved back and forth, bobbed up and down a couple of times, before a voice asked from behind the door, "Is it safe?"
Marge took a deep breath, let it out and closed her book, using a finger to hold her place. She closed her eyes for a moment, as if in prayer, then answered, "I'm unarmed, if that's any comfort."
There was a pause, and then the voice said, "Well, that's something, I guess." The door opened a little further, and her husband slipped into the room. After studying her for a moment or two -- as though gauging her expression, she thought -- he lowered the cap, collapsed the antenna, and pushed the door shut. He stomped his feet a couple of times on the throw rug to shake off the snow, and then stood there silently, fidgeting with the stocking cap.
She let silence flow between them, for a bit, and then shifted slightly in her wingback chair and leaned on one arm, the book still in her lap. "Yes?" she asked softly, drawing the word out so it seemed to take a couple of syllables.
John started to speak, but nothing came out; he swallowed, licked his lips and started again. "I'm sorry."
She waited, and when nothing else seemed to be forthcoming she raised her head slightly and said, encouragingly, "For..." She motioned with her free hand, like someone playing charades, urging her partner to keep throwing out phrases.
He looked back at her, his eyes looking past her and moving rapidly, as though he were thinking feverishly.
"You haven't given this a lot of thought, have you?" she asked after a moment.
"I have," he said defensively, "I really have. I've been driving around out there for hours, thinking."
"You said you were going for coffee."
He looked to the side, then, and scratched his cheek. "Yeah, I did say that. But I left without any money, and I wasn't going to come back in and get it. So I just drove."
"Gas is almost fifteen cents a gallon, John. Do you think that was a good idea?"
He opened his hands in a helpless gesture. "It was the best I could come up with. I figured if I went and parked somewhere, I might freeze -- or not be able to start the car. Either way, I wouldn't make it home, and I figured you might worry about me, then." He looked at her anxiously. "Am I right?"
"Well," she said evenly, "that would have left me without a car tomorrow, with the baby to take to the doctor."
"See -- I was only thinking about you."
"Don't even try that, John Randall. You were just in a pickle, and you didn't know what to do."
He shrugged. "That might be part of it."
"So now you're sorry?"
"Well... yeah."
"Sorry for what?" she repeated, circling back to her original question.
"For not listening. For doing something you asked me not to do."
"And?"
He paused, shook his head and said ruefully, "Man, you are like a dog with a bone."
"Woof," she said, and half-smiled; for the first time in hours the gnawing in his gut started to fade. "Humor me," she added, "I need to hear it."
"For spending money without asking, and when you called me on it I got mad."
"There. That's what I wanted to hear. But you know what really gets to me? These are things that I've asked you not to do, and you still do them... or I have asked you to do, and you just ignore me. Why is that? What's that all about?"
He shrugged. "I don't know. I guess I don't think about it. There's things that seem like a good idea at the time, even though you've said no... and there's some things I just don't think about doing, even if you have asked me. I forget."
"Or choose to forget?"
John shook his head. "No. Well, yeah, sometimes," he admitted sheepishly.
"So you can see why I would get angry, sometimes. I know, you've got your work, but I have a household to run. We agreed on that a long time ago. I've got bills to pay, meals to plan, all sorts of things that have to get done, and now we've got a family to think about. There's more to it than just you and me."
John nodded. "I know."
"Believe it or not, I've put things together pretty well -- there's a structure and an order to how things get done, and as long as nobody strays from it, everything should work just fine. But if one of us -- John -- decides not to follow the rules, there's going to be chaos. If you're just going to go off and do whatever you want to do, then I'm not going to be responsible for what happens."
John nodded again. "I understand. And I'm sorry. Will you take me back?"
Marge shook her head and sighed, "Take you back? I never let you go -- you're the one that decided to leave. Just don't do that again, okay? I was worried -- it's cold and it's nasty out there, I know."
John was across the living room in a couple of steps, then, and Marge stood up, setting her book to the side. As they hugged, he murmured in her ear, "It's really not so bad out there -- as long as I've got you to come home to."
It would not be their last argument, and she knew it, but she also knew where his heart lay... and that counted for something. She smiled, held him close, and promised, "Remember that... and I'll always be here for you."
Keith Hewitt is the author of three volumes of NaTiVity Dramas: Nontraditional Christmas Plays for All Ages (CSS). He is a local pastor, former youth leader and Sunday school teacher, and occasional speaker at Christian events. He is currently serving as the pastor at Parkview UMC in Turtle Lake, Wisconsin. Keith is married to a teacher, and they have two children and assorted dogs and cats.
*****************************************
StoryShare, July 28, 2013, issue.
Copyright 2013 by CSS Publishing Company, Inc., Lima, Ohio.
All rights reserved. Subscribers to the StoryShare service may print and use this material as it was intended in sermons, in worship and classroom settings, in brief devotions, in radio spots, and as newsletter fillers. No additional permission is required from the publisher for such use by subscribers only. Inquiries should be addressed to permissions@csspub.com or to Permissions, CSS Publishing Company, Inc., 5450 N. Dixie Highway, Lima, Ohio 45807.
"What's a Mountweazel?" by Frank Ramirez
"The Argument" by Keith Hewitt
* * * * * * *
What's a Mountweazel?
by Frank Ramirez
Colossians 2:6-15 (16-19)
See to it that no one takes you captive through philosophy and empty deceit….
-- Colossians 2:8
Consider the story of Lillian Virginia Mountweazel. She was born in 1942 in Bangs, Ohio, and grew up to become a noted photographer whose fame rests on her book Flags Up, featuring photographs of rural mailboxes. Alas, she died in an explosion while on a photo assignment for Combustables magazine. She was only 31 at the time.
Want to know more? Then go to New Columbia Encyclopedia, the edition of 1975, and look for page 1,850. It's all there.
And it's all false. She never existed. Her story was totally fabricated, a false entry designed to catch other encyclopedists who might be tempted to copy information from New Columbia, perhaps just changing the order of a few words, and then claiming it as their own research.
False entries in dictionaries, encyclopedias, and trivia collections are designed to catch you up in case you decide to cheat and copy right out of the, you know, like my teacher said. As a matter of fact, words like "esquivalience" that can be found in the second edition of the New Oxford American Dictionary, are referred to as Mountweazels.
The definition of esquivalience in case you're wondering is "the willful avoidance of one's official responsibilities." It comes from the French esquiver, which according to the dictionary means "dodge" or "slink away."
And of course it's as phony as Mountweazel because it is a Mountweazel.
The authors of "The Golden Turkey Awards," about the worst movies of all time, made it clear that one of the movies in the book was phony, in order to keep other authors honest. As it turns out it was "Dog of Norway," starring Muki the Wonder Dog.
Remember the game Trivial Pursuit? The makers got caught. On one card you read the question: "What is Lieutenant Columbo's first name?" Turn the card over and you learn the answer was "Philip."
Which of course is wrong! Columbo's first name was never revealed, but it had been included in another trivia collection as a phony entry designed to catch others who might not do their own research. This led to a lawsuit later thrown out on a technicality.
There are fake cities on maps, such as the fake Ohio towns of Goblu and Beatosu in a 1978 map of Michigan (just sound them out and you'll see). There are also false plant and animal entries, such as the "Steinlaus" or "stone louse," an animal that eats rocks, in a German medical encyclopedia. In that last instance the publisher removed the reference after it was discovered but had to put it back it because it was so popular with the readers!
Keep in mind these are just some of the Mountweazel's that have been discovered. It is hard to believe that there aren't others, imbedded not only in printed dictionaries, encyclopedias, reference works, trivia collections, and baseball statistics, but in websites cataloging acres of information. See to it that no one takes you captive through philosophy and empty deceit -- and cite your sources.
Is there a biblical Mountweazil? Is there a Study Bible, or a translation, or edition that has, embedded deep in 1 Chronicles, a name or event that was placed there to catch plagiarists? Probably not. Who would be taken in by Second Jonah or Third Corinthians? The warning in Revelation (I warn everyone who hears the words of the prophecy of this book: if anyone adds to them, God will add to that person the plagues described in this book... 21:18) will probably discourage someone from messing with the word of God. Besides, there's no reason for a Christian to fail to adequately cite all sources!
But all the same, you really ought to cite your sources. Don't quote something verbatim off an internet encyclopedia without giving them credit. Besides, it never hurts to do a little original research.
(By the way, the sources for this StoryShare are the Wikipedia article "Fictitious Entry" and "Not A Word" by Henry Alford in the August 29, 2005 issue of The New Yorker.)
Frank Ramirez has served as a pastor for nearly 30 years in Church of the Brethren congregations in Los Angeles, California; Elkhart, Indiana; and Everett, Pennsylvania. A graduate of LaVerne College and Bethany Theological Seminary, Ramirez is the author of numerous books, articles, and short stories. His CSS titles include Partners in Healing, He Took a Towel, The Bee Attitudes, three volumes of Lectionary Worship Aids, and Breakdown on Bethlehem Street.
The Argument
by Keith Hewitt
Psalm 85
The living room door opened slowly, hinges complaining softly, and the air that swept past it into the room was cold. It stopped, about half-open, still shielding whoever was opening it from view. Marge Randall looked up from the book in her hands, toward the door she had been studiously ignoring -- just as she had ignored the sounds of the car door and the feet crunching in snow on the sidewalk -- and waited. Long moments passed, and then a stocking cap appeared.
It seemed to be floating, at first, before she spotted the slender stick -- it might have been a car antenna -- holding it up. It moved back and forth, bobbed up and down a couple of times, before a voice asked from behind the door, "Is it safe?"
Marge took a deep breath, let it out and closed her book, using a finger to hold her place. She closed her eyes for a moment, as if in prayer, then answered, "I'm unarmed, if that's any comfort."
There was a pause, and then the voice said, "Well, that's something, I guess." The door opened a little further, and her husband slipped into the room. After studying her for a moment or two -- as though gauging her expression, she thought -- he lowered the cap, collapsed the antenna, and pushed the door shut. He stomped his feet a couple of times on the throw rug to shake off the snow, and then stood there silently, fidgeting with the stocking cap.
She let silence flow between them, for a bit, and then shifted slightly in her wingback chair and leaned on one arm, the book still in her lap. "Yes?" she asked softly, drawing the word out so it seemed to take a couple of syllables.
John started to speak, but nothing came out; he swallowed, licked his lips and started again. "I'm sorry."
She waited, and when nothing else seemed to be forthcoming she raised her head slightly and said, encouragingly, "For..." She motioned with her free hand, like someone playing charades, urging her partner to keep throwing out phrases.
He looked back at her, his eyes looking past her and moving rapidly, as though he were thinking feverishly.
"You haven't given this a lot of thought, have you?" she asked after a moment.
"I have," he said defensively, "I really have. I've been driving around out there for hours, thinking."
"You said you were going for coffee."
He looked to the side, then, and scratched his cheek. "Yeah, I did say that. But I left without any money, and I wasn't going to come back in and get it. So I just drove."
"Gas is almost fifteen cents a gallon, John. Do you think that was a good idea?"
He opened his hands in a helpless gesture. "It was the best I could come up with. I figured if I went and parked somewhere, I might freeze -- or not be able to start the car. Either way, I wouldn't make it home, and I figured you might worry about me, then." He looked at her anxiously. "Am I right?"
"Well," she said evenly, "that would have left me without a car tomorrow, with the baby to take to the doctor."
"See -- I was only thinking about you."
"Don't even try that, John Randall. You were just in a pickle, and you didn't know what to do."
He shrugged. "That might be part of it."
"So now you're sorry?"
"Well... yeah."
"Sorry for what?" she repeated, circling back to her original question.
"For not listening. For doing something you asked me not to do."
"And?"
He paused, shook his head and said ruefully, "Man, you are like a dog with a bone."
"Woof," she said, and half-smiled; for the first time in hours the gnawing in his gut started to fade. "Humor me," she added, "I need to hear it."
"For spending money without asking, and when you called me on it I got mad."
"There. That's what I wanted to hear. But you know what really gets to me? These are things that I've asked you not to do, and you still do them... or I have asked you to do, and you just ignore me. Why is that? What's that all about?"
He shrugged. "I don't know. I guess I don't think about it. There's things that seem like a good idea at the time, even though you've said no... and there's some things I just don't think about doing, even if you have asked me. I forget."
"Or choose to forget?"
John shook his head. "No. Well, yeah, sometimes," he admitted sheepishly.
"So you can see why I would get angry, sometimes. I know, you've got your work, but I have a household to run. We agreed on that a long time ago. I've got bills to pay, meals to plan, all sorts of things that have to get done, and now we've got a family to think about. There's more to it than just you and me."
John nodded. "I know."
"Believe it or not, I've put things together pretty well -- there's a structure and an order to how things get done, and as long as nobody strays from it, everything should work just fine. But if one of us -- John -- decides not to follow the rules, there's going to be chaos. If you're just going to go off and do whatever you want to do, then I'm not going to be responsible for what happens."
John nodded again. "I understand. And I'm sorry. Will you take me back?"
Marge shook her head and sighed, "Take you back? I never let you go -- you're the one that decided to leave. Just don't do that again, okay? I was worried -- it's cold and it's nasty out there, I know."
John was across the living room in a couple of steps, then, and Marge stood up, setting her book to the side. As they hugged, he murmured in her ear, "It's really not so bad out there -- as long as I've got you to come home to."
It would not be their last argument, and she knew it, but she also knew where his heart lay... and that counted for something. She smiled, held him close, and promised, "Remember that... and I'll always be here for you."
Keith Hewitt is the author of three volumes of NaTiVity Dramas: Nontraditional Christmas Plays for All Ages (CSS). He is a local pastor, former youth leader and Sunday school teacher, and occasional speaker at Christian events. He is currently serving as the pastor at Parkview UMC in Turtle Lake, Wisconsin. Keith is married to a teacher, and they have two children and assorted dogs and cats.
*****************************************
StoryShare, July 28, 2013, issue.
Copyright 2013 by CSS Publishing Company, Inc., Lima, Ohio.
All rights reserved. Subscribers to the StoryShare service may print and use this material as it was intended in sermons, in worship and classroom settings, in brief devotions, in radio spots, and as newsletter fillers. No additional permission is required from the publisher for such use by subscribers only. Inquiries should be addressed to permissions@csspub.com or to Permissions, CSS Publishing Company, Inc., 5450 N. Dixie Highway, Lima, Ohio 45807.
