Just had to share what my spam filter caught this morning…

Why hello associate forum people! I right-minded wanted to set up myself here as this looks like a sheer absorbing forum! I myself am gripping in things like writeing and computer repair so if anyoune needs steal farm out me remember! I also Suffer from Sciatica so if you aslo secure this disease let me know so we can allowance some stretches!

 

 

What wonderful news!  I have “a sheer absorbing forum” (err..blog?)!

Anyoune (whoever you are), please don’t steal from this poor person.  He/she seems especially concerned about possession of their farm.  Perhaps it has been in the Spammer family for many generations, or perhaps Spammer was speculating on the land and just got a great offer from Bass Pro Shops, who are scouting the location of their next Outdoor World supercenter.  (though I suspect that stealing aforementioned farm wouldn’t be an especially tricky undertaking.  I bet you could just hang a sign out front saying “Anyoune’s farm now”, and our esteemed spammer would keep on movin’.  Honestly, I’m not sure they realized they had a farm in the first place, and I think their claim that “me remember” is dubious at best.  This is a golden opportunity for you, Anyoune!  Seize it!)

Babelfish has failed you, Spammer.  But all is well, for I’ve had my morning chortle.

PS> Spammer, here’s a handy link to some excercises to help your sciatica.  Personally, I hope to never “secure” the condition (it’s not actually a disease), as “poor typing skills” is apparently a secondary symptom.

Here’s some more Babelfish poetry for you. What we do is take a well-known poem, translate it into another language via Babelfish, then back into English, then you figure out what it is and who wrote it.

Oh…then you send me a nice little comment telling me what it is and who wrote it.

This time the language is all Greek to me, but I know you my fervent readers are up to the challenge:

I know why the enclaved bird sings

A free bird jumps in the back
From air and the floating bodies to under
Up to the running utmost and immersions his feather
In orange beams of suns
And it dares it requires the sky.

But a BIRD that it persecutes under the narrow cage
can seldom see via his barriers of rage
his feathers they be trimmed and his legs are tied up
thus open his neck in order to it sings.

The enclaved bird sings with one terrified
sings out the things unknown but for even
his tone is heard in the distant hill for
the enclaved bird sings the freedom.

The free bird thinks a other breeze
And the commercial winds soft
straight the trees of sigh
And the thick worms that they wait for in dawnof
turf and it names the sky his.

But a enclaved BIRD stands in the grave of dreams
his cries of shades in a cry of nightmare
his feathers is trimmed and his legs are tied up
thus it opens his neck in order to it sings.

The enclaved bird sings with
One terrified sings out the things unknown
But for real estate and his
Coordinates is heard in the distant hill
For the enclaved bird sings the freedom.

Le TrogloPundit, juste une autre Bloviating Troglodyte!

So here’s what happened. Shortly after Michael Jackson died, I noted the existence of Michael-Jackson-is-Alive conspiracy theorists. I still get some hits on it, because, you know, the truth is out there.

So today I’m checking my traffic (in an entirely non-obsessive-compulsive fashion) and I notice some hits coming from this link, which is a babelfish translation of that very same post. Pretty cool.

I love how it translates some of the stuff on the sidebar, but not all of it. N Ecoulement des oeufs, for example. Riehl Regard sur le monde. Les articles divers Shack.

I’ve mentioned my own adventures with babelfish before, to wit: it doesn’t really work. It scrambles syntax, and has no idea what to do with colloquialisms or slang. So I wonder what the French-speaking people who are clicking that link think?

UPDATE - Oh yeah. Carla Bruni reads TrogloPundit.

For those getting started in WPF I recommend the WPF Boot Camp 2008 videos. Make sure you clink on the extended list of links.

An unexpected highlight was Glenn Block of Microsoft Patterns and Practices talking about Prism, the Composite Application Block for WPF. While valiantly attempting to explain Prism to a beginner audience in WPF without assuming prior knowledge of Dependency Injection, Glenn tells us:

There are things we can do to avoid over-complexifying an application beyond its natural complexity

I had trouble understanding this so I used Babelfish to Refactor it into Portuguese, from there into French, from there into German, from there into Greek and than back into English:

It exists things that we can make avoid a sobre-complexifying application apart from their natural complexity

That was a little better, but for added clarity I performed a second-phase refactoring, repeating the previous steps:

It exists the things that a application sobre-complexifying omitted their natural complexity you avoid this they can it can

If you have any further questions, please ping the Microsoft Patterns and Practices Team.

Kalau menacari layanan kamus online di internet buka aja ::

http://babelfish.yahoo.com/

semua bahasa ada.,

dari english -> japanese

sampai french-> russian juga ada..

selamat mencoba ya…

ehehehe

There’s this Korean song stuck in my head this morning from this online game, A3. The title of the song is “When I’m feeling Blue”, by Joori (주리). And I was searching for a translation for the opening lines, but since there was not any to be found, I went to look for an online translator.

This is the original:

when I’m feelin’ blue..
그 때 그대 숨결을

when I’m feelin’ fear..
그대 손길 한번 더 느끼고파

This is Babelfish’s translation:

when I’m feelin’ blue..
That time you breathing

when I’m feelin’ fear..
You outstretched hand once feels, the green onion

This is Google Translate’s translation:

when I’m feelin’ blue..
Then you breath

when I’m feelin’ fear..
Touch you feel hungry again

R, aka King Kong, took a look at both translations and dissolved in a fit of uncontrollable chuckles. “It’s really lost in translation“, he told me.

We haven’t done one of these for a while, but since I’ve been under the weather and haven’t posted anything for a bit I decided to do some Babelfish poetry again.

We take a well known poem or literature passage, then we translate it into a randomly chosen language via Babelfish, then back into English, then you tell me what it is.

This time the language was Dutch and it should be easy peasy one two threesy for you:

Postponed dream

What happens to a postponed dream?
Does it baste on
as a raisin in the sun?
Or ulcer as a painful spot—
And course then?
Does it stink as rots flesh?
Or crust and sugar—
as a ropy candy?
Perhaps only it subsides
as a heavy cargo.
Or does it explode?

After yesterday’s wastefulness, when I awoke from my deep slumber today at 08:00 (with the gentle persuasion of Jonathan Richman and The Modern Lover’s ‘Morning of our Lives’ as an alarm) I was ill prepared for getting the bus to Bucharest at 10:00 am.

This hostel is pretty good but it’s a little bit out of the way and you have to use taxis to get where you need unless you have the time for a decent walk. So I needed money for a cab and for the actual coach fare (as well as a bit of food supplies) but the shopping mall next door doesn’t open until 10. The taxi drivers don’t seem to speak English and I didn’t fancy trying to explain I needed an ATM with time not being on my side.

Right, so my change of plan is to visit Tiraspol in the break away republic of Transnistria for the day, this is the place I didn’t go to the other day with the Welsh lads because of the derby.

Then I will either get the night bus at 22:00 if I’m back in time or at worst stay an extra night here and make sure I’m ready to rock ‘n roll properly tomorrow morning.

I’ve cast away the apathy (mainly due to tiredness from too many late nights and also because of the laziness that can develop when you have a comfortable hostel to squat in) and it’s groovy gravy from here on in folks, maybe.

Do you know I had to buy another set of earphones a couple of days ago. That’s one pair I’ve had stolen (or taken by accident), a replacement pair from Berlin lasting a month or so before packing in and then a cheap pair I was forced to buy in Poland (so I was over the minimum card amount in a shop) lasting around a day. It’s up there with my biggest recurring costs, blimey.

I’ve always wondered why mosquitos don’t bite you on your face, it seems they do. One of the sods has nailed me just under my right eye socket (as well as on my left knee and right elbow). Grrrr.

Crikey, the bus station setup here is mental. You get there and there are a hundred buses (literally) in all directions. There’s a load of mildly official looking larger ones under departure gates, then there are lots more dodgy minibuses with signs in them saying where they are going.

Eventually I found the right mini-bus more by chance as I heard the driver saying Tiraspol. I wouldn’t have noticed it by the sign as this one was all in Cyrillic. With the help of a pen and paper I got the price (30 lei, that’s less than 2 quid I think), departure time, how long it takes (a bit less than 2 hours) and what time the last returning bus is. Not bad eh.

I’ve heard that sometimes the border control peeps expect bribes so I’ve stashed my decent value notes in my sock just in case.

The suspension of this vehicle is on par with that of the waist-band of Vanessa Feltz. It’s proving exceedingly difficult to compose this blog but I’ll soldier on anyway eh.

Hmm, I may have a problem. At customs going into Transnistria the official said in English “You must stay 10 hours”, I replied that I can’t as the last bus is at 18:45, he just repeated his last statement and added “Understand?”. “Yes” was my reply.

10 hours is 7 more than I intended (and intend) to stay. I’m positive that the Welsh lads had stayed less than 10 and they didn’t have this issue. Also I spoke to maybe 3 or 4 different people (including staff) about visiting here and they didn’t mention it either.

So I’ve got 2 options, neither of which are particularly appealing.

Option A is to try and find somewhere to stay in Tiraspol and go back to Chisinau tomorrow morning, there are lots of drawbacks to this: My bag is in the Chisinau hostel so I’d have to ring them and ask them to look after it, I obviously don’t have any stuff that would be useful for spending a night here (even a jacket), I can’t imagine it would be an easy task finding somewhere cheap to stay (few people round these parts speak English), I’d need to ring the hostel in Bucharest to change my booking (again as I already Skyped them this morning to move the booking forward a day as it is) and lastly I don’t bleedin’ want to spend a night here you draconian red star beaurocrats!

That leaves option B of having to chance it and pay for the bus back to Chisinau at risk of being detained at the border until midnight (or beyond! This post might never actually make it onto STBB and the SAS may have to launch Operation Get Bugger Back, I’ve paid enough ruddy national insurance to justify it). If I do get detained, how the hell I get back to Chisinau at that time I know not.

Actually I think it might not be a case of having to spend 10 hours here, it’s more likely that you can’t enter and leave within the same day. I’ve just noticed that the bloke has written ‘24′ next to the stamp saying ‘22 CEH 2009′. I wonder if there’s anywhere to buy tipex round here, ahem.

I hope it isn’t the same customs official working I get later, or I can’t really deny understanding what was said to me on the way in (though it probably doesn’t matter to them whether I understood or not anyway.) My current plan is to play dumb if this issue does rear it’s ugly swede and hope its more hassle for them to have me hanging about but that would be negated if it’s the same geezer. Backup plans formulated so far are small change bribery and outpouring of extreme violence on da muddas.

I really need a beer. First I’ve got to figure out how to change some lei for roubles, apparently there are no ATMs here or they don’t work or something.

That bit was straight forward enough, I changed a 200 Moldovan lei note to 2 x 100 notes and then changed one of them to 81 roubles. I did get questioned by a copper while sitting on the steps doing the maths prior to this though, I showed him the (as yet undoctored) paper I was given at the border and he let me go then.

The state of my wallet is becoming a mighty complicated affair. It is currently home to Transnistrian roubles, Romanian lei, Moldovian lei and Lithuanian somet. Come back €, all is forgiven.

Niet is a Russian word I’ve heard often today. As in “Do you speak English?” – “Niet”. You see the station where the bus dropped us off doesn’t seem to be near that much and I’m not really sure which direction it is to the town centre (if indeed there is one), I’ve made my best guess and headed in that direction while trying to keep track of the route I take.

I can’t begin to tell you what beer I’m drinking as the name is in Cyrillic. I’ve found a bar at least anyway.

I’d guessed right so got to have a quick butchers about. Transnistria seems to be very much still steeped in Sovietism. Lenin and hammer and sickle stuff everywhere. It sees itself as part of Russia which is evident by the Russian flags on display and Putin posters knocking about.

Flamin’ ‘eck, oh for a babelfish right now. I appear to have got myself in another pickle. I stopped in for something to eat at a very large fast-food chain called Andy’s Pizza. I went for steak and chips but wasn’t sure if I was reading the price right as it was 35 roubles (a touch over £2) which is ridiculously cheap, there was some other number next to it saying 300 and I wanted to be sure this wasn’t the actual price as it would have been ridiculously expensive and I wouldnt have had enough to pay for it. So when I tried to query this what seemed like the entire staff surrounded me and none of them spoke a word of the Queen’s (this isn’t a criticsm when I say this, it’s just an explanation of the situation) so we were getting no where fast. Where’s Andy when you need him eh? I just chanced it and luckily it was the 35 amount.

The food was okay, nothing to write home about (though in a way, that’s exactly what I’m doing) and quite small portions. But I certainly got my 2 notes worth.

The next thing that went wrong is I got a little lost (no map and the Cyrillic street names not helping) with about 20 minutes to go before the bus left. Cue me sprinting about (which has given me blisters in these sneeks) lots trying to find someone who speaks Blighty talk to get directions.

I found someone eventually but it was a little difficult to understand as she kept getting her rights and lefts mixed up. I got enough though and thankfully with the turn of one corner I knew where I was again.

I’m on a bus to Chisinau now, I’ll know if I’m home and dry shortly as the border is only 15 or 20 minutes away. Gulp.

I thought I was on the wrong bus for a bit as the route to the border seemed very different and had taken considerably longer. It said Chisnau – Tiraspol on the front and I said Chisinau to the driver and he kind of nodded but then I thought well the sign should be Tiraspol – Chisnau so maybe they’ve just not taken it down and it’s actually going somewhere else now. It’s horrible not being able to speak to people, you spend a lot of time not knowing what the chuff is going on.

Well that’s a relief, after all that threating the official that came on the bus didn’t bat an eyelid when he looked at my papers. I did think the odds were in favour of there not being a problem, but still I was far from sure.

This outing really hasn’t been worth all the stress and ball ache. I think I’ll switch back to lazy apathetic mode, it’s a simpler life. Groovy gravy indeed.

Right I made it back to the hostel in time and have shared a taxi with a Dutch girl who is getting the same bus. She’s a freelance journalist on a working holiday with an interest in the geo-politics of the region so I picked up lots of good info.

The bus is a full on double decker whopper complete with tables and everything. That’s relative luxury after what I’ve been used to of late.

I just showed my travel companion that the little thing on her iPhone is actually a remote and microphone, to be fair she has only had it 6 months! Women eh, give them access to some top banana technology and I gurantee they’ll only utilise a tiny fraction of it.

They just gave everyone on the bus a rum and cocoa flavoured croissant and a peach drink for free. Not bad this for 235 lei (less than 15 smackers).

It took a couple of hours to get everyone through both set of customs but there should be no further disturbances now so at 2 in the morn, I’m going to have a go at a much needed kip.

I was daft and didn’t take my hoody on the bus and as a consequence of that I was freezing. As a consequence of being freezing I didn’t sleep a wink. Boo boo.

Okay it’s getting close to 7:00 am I’m in Bucharest now you’ll be relieved to read.

The next stage of my disasterous 24 hours was a completely inept taxi driver who said the journey would cost me €10 and I said 10 lei as I knew €10 was 5 times the price it should be, he nodded. After the first corner he clearly didn’t have a clue where he was going (even though it’s is one of the main streets in Bucharest. Shortly afterwards he dropped me on a street that I was pretty sure wasn’t the right one, but I couldn’t see a street name to confirm it as we weren’t near a corner. Reluctantly I gave him the 10 lei and the cheeky sod had the face to try and get more off me by flashing a 50 lei note (which would be even more than the 10 Euros he’d tried to charge me initially), for that distance it should have only been about 4 lei. I told him to “Get to f*ck”. He had dropped me on Regina Maria Blvd rather than Regina Elizabet Blvd, so I had to get another taxi anyway. Grrr.

The last little quirk of the day was having to ring the hostel several times (and likely have cost myself more in roaming rates than it will have done to actually stay here tonight) to figure out where it was as it was supposed to be 44 Regina Elizabet Blvd and as I’d been at 34 and 10 metres later I was at 54 with no hostel between it was a bit perplexing. For some unexplicable reason 44 is a quarter mile the other way, I can’t even be bothered thinking about why.

It’s been a bit of a ruddy long one today hasn’t it readers. Readers? Hey! Where did ya go?!

Well, I thought the last time we did this poem that it would be difficult but I had no idea, so let’s try it again using the same poem but a different language.

If you’re new to Babelfish poetry, what we do is we take a reasonably well known poem or literature passage, translate it into a randomly chosen foreign language via Babelfish, then back into English. Then you send me comments with your guesses as to what the poem is and who wrote it.

This time I switched to Italian and you should have no trouble getting it:

in some place I have not never travelled

in some place I have not never travelled, happy here
all l’ experience, your eyes has they Hush:
in your more delicate gesture they are the things enclose that it,
or that I cannot touch because they are too much close

your look minimal easy unclose me
although I like bars have closed same,
petal opened from the same petal I while the motivating force opens
(touching skillful, mysteriously) its first one is always increased

or if your desire is of neighbor, and the
my life will close very in beautiful way, without warning,
like when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow with attention everywhere that it comes down;

nothing that we are to perceive in equal of this world
power of your intense embrittlement: of to who it
forces it structure with the color of the relative countries,
died of the rappresentazione and in order always with that it breathes

(I do not know what is approximately you that it is closed
and is opened; only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all the roses)
nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands

You can’t have a new ‘Fun with Babelfish’ until you finish the old one. I’ve had one guess, but it wasn’t right. I can’t post a new one until somebody gets the previous one. That’s the rule, I didn’t make it up…oh wait, yes I did.

Anyway, I will give you a hint. It’s a love poem. (Yeah, that really narrows it down.)

Desde o ano passado, o Twitter têm feito parte de nossas vidas. A forma de como dizemos ”o que estamos fazendo” vem mudando de forma. Hoje o Twitter vai além da pergunta que é o slogan do site e é utilizado como uma rede social e uma forma nova de comunicação. Como dizem, o serviço de microblogging está até fazendo com que as notícias na TV se tornem velhas.

E com mais pessoas se integrando, mais línguas estão presentes. Com mais línguas, fica difícil entender. Mas isso agora não é mais problema com o Twinslator. Ele é um tradutor de tweets. Você insere algo em uma língua e ele traduz pra outra, de sua preferência. E você pode até twittar o seu texto traduzido! É, Babel Fish e Google Translator que se cuidem.

So here we go again with the Babelfish poetry.

What we do is we take a reasonably well known poem or literature passage (I’m not all that literate, so I figure if I know it then it must be reasonably well known), translate it into a randomly chosen foreign language via Babelfish, then back into English. Then you send me comments with your guesses as to what the poem is and who wrote it.

This time I used Korean, the results are quite beautiful on their own and I think probably harder than previous ones I’ve done:

not travelling assuredly

what kind of experience which does not travel assuredly gladly to over there,
there is your eye their silence:
Will besiege me because being too nearly from the gesture
which you omits most, will go out, will touch and that is not possibility,

you was most slight sees, closes easily
with unclose writing going out fingers,
but the spring opens (to be skillful, to under mystery touching,)
her first time time,

you this in compliance with the petal always is opened
petal my oneself happening
and or you estranged closing me, is for and that in case,
i life will close suddenly quite beautifully means,
when like the thing and the heart of this flower imagines,
the eye attention which fall is deep in where;

We this world you are intense from the fact that is equal and fragility,
Huaihe woman anything which perceives a force:
Who structure should have compelled me to color of it nation,
the low of breathing with the production dead
which has respectively about you who

(are shut forever rises does not know
and opens; Silence go you whom understands
voice of the eye are deeper all roses)
anyone go round from only me and expense
even they are not and a small hand, like that there is not

So…time to get on with it and have some fun.

As usual, what we have here is a reasonably well known poem translated from English to a randomly selected language via Babelfish, then back again.

This time it’s translated into Russian and back, but it shouldn’t take all of the Brothers Karamazov to figure out. As usual, the first person to answer correctly wins a fabulous set of nothing:

Shafts

I think never that I will not see
poem likable as shaft.

Shaft of companies of which hungry prest
against the sweet of earth’ breast s passing;

Shaft which looks god entire day,
I raise its leafy handles in order to pray;

Shaft which can in the wear of the summer
Of gnezdy of robins in its hair;

To whose snow of bosom it lay;
Who tightly lives with the rain.

Poems are made by fools as I,
but only god can make a shaft.

Im Verlag Langenscheidt ist ein neues Buch aus der Reihe “Übelsetzungen” erschienen: Dankstelle.

In diesen Büchern findet man immer schön gebabelfishte Hinweisschilder, Speisekarten und anderes Zeug, das Leute in ihrem Urlaub gefunden haben.
Hier ein paar Beispiele (Quelle: Langenscheidt):

Mein Favorit aber:

Das werden wir jetzt auch in unsere Bedienungsanleitungen schreiben.
Nicht mehr: “Vorsicht Verletzungsgefahr…”
Sondern jetzt: “Aufpassen, das Produkt war teuer!”

Liebe Leserinnen und Leser: Wenn Ihr jetzt in Eurem Urlaub (oder vielleicht sogar zu Hause) auch solche “Übelsetzungen” findet, fotografiert sie bitte und schickt sie an
manualblog ät public-files.de
Wir werden sie dann gerne hier veröffentlichen.

P.S.: Wir finden es übrigens grundsätzlich schön, dass die Leute im Ausland versuchen, die Touristen in deutscher Sprache anzureden. Über komische Übersetzungen lachen muss aber erlaubt sein. 

Here we go again, translated from English to French and back again. Shouldn’t be too diff for my very astute readers.

We little, us happy little, we meet brothers.
For He aujourd’ today this its blood with me throws
Are my brother; is it ne’ ; heu so cheap,
this day will soften its state.
And Sirs in England now abed
will think that cursed they n’ were not here,
and to consider their virilities cheap on the way speaks
that fought with us on the Crispin’ saint; ; day of S.

voglio vivere all’aeroporto di Monaco. Lo dico senza ironia, è un posto spettacolare. Lindo, silenzioso, neppure i bambini schiamazzano! La pubblicita dei negozi duty free di Monaco ne è la prova: un bambino biondo come solo i bambini tedeschi sanno essere guarda un enorme orso di peluche all’interno di un negozio e cosa fa? tira lievemente la giacca del padre che entra e ne compra uno piccolissimo. Il bambino sorride felice. In un colpo solo insegnano educazione e austerità. Ovviamente, essendo in Germania, all’aeroporto di Monaco si può fumare ovunque e questo è un difetto. Assieme all’altro difetto: hanno tradotto con babelfish le scritte per gli italiani. Pare che in bagno, ad esempio si debba “toccare facilmente l’asciugamano“.
Ma ormai sono a Parigi da due giorni, vi parlo di Monaco solo perchè vi pensavo in quella mezzora lassù. Se invece di treni italiani prendessi aerei tedeschi non saprei di che parlarvi! Domani però prenderò un TGV francese, dalla Gare du Nord ad Arras e vi farò sapere chi lo frequenta. Parigi è sempre la stessa, ricorderete che l’anno scorso in questi stessi giorni ero da queste parti. Solo che non ero solo e, a differenza di ogni previsione, la cosa non mi piace poi tanto. Sarà che sono romantico e non lo so, ma passare in certi posti un anno dopo fa un certo effetto. Ad ogni modo, sto spendendo molti soldi in libreria, come previsto, e sto passando molte ore in biblioteca, come previsto.
Tutto come a Genova? Neanche per sogno! Ieri pomeriggio, invece di leggere City prendendo il sole sulla Nave Italia, leggevo Jauss prendendo il sole sdraiato su un prato in Place des Vosges. Lo dico solo per farvi schiattare, va da sè.
Ora salgo in camera, sono ospite di un gentile dottorando del terzo anno e della Maison d’Espagne. Per questo scuserete gli errori di battitura, sono un italiano che a Parigi scrive con una tastiera spagnola, quella in cui ci sono cose come questa ¨e questa ñ.

Dopo tutto, l’Europa è anche questo.

Per vedere i commenti “originali”, andare qui…