The soc.culture.turkish newsgroup has an online FAQ.
In 2004, Turkey finally began accession talks with the EU. The joke goes that ``Turkey is an Occident waiting to happen.''
It was quite unusual for the famous conservationist president to be photographed with wildlife that he had not first killed. For that matter, James J. Audubon, after whom a road near the UB North campus is named, used to shoot his birds first. This made them much easier to study at close hand. Since his time, the gun clubs he began have changed their name to ``The Audubon Society.''
Don't say ``this one's on me'' in Tokyo until you convert the prices. It only looks like everything is priced in Italian lire, but the yen is dearer by an order of magnitude.
The great tragedy of Science -- the slaying of a beautiful hypothesis by an ugly fact.
In act 4 of ``Man and Superman'' (1903), Shaw wrote:
There are two tragedies in life. One is not to get your heart's desire. The other is to get it.
Just that he was a pagan is really a pretty low-down, pettifogging excuse not to make him the patron saint of facial hair.
The Old French verb evolved into the French trancher, which was borrowed by 1513 to produce the English verb tranch (also originally spelled traunche). Tranch had the narrow sense of carve applied to a fish (somehow usually a sturgeon). The word is attested as recently as 1840, but is obsolete today. A noun tranche (same spelling as the French noun) also occurred in the same period and is attested as recently as 1894 in the general sense of slice or cut piece (usually of food, it seems). Then, beginning in 1930, the noun tranche reappears primarily in financial contexts, with senses described in the next entry. My guess is that the word was reborrowed from the French rather than resurrected and repurposed entirely within English, but it's hard to know.
While not every case of tinnitus has an apparent source, there are a variety of causes. Exposure to loud noise, either over an extended period of time or one extreme incident, is probably the most common. Other possible causes of tinnitus include: certain medical conditions; certain medications; allergies.Never discount the possibility of divine retribution.
This ``three-year colloquium'' business is a standard format for the APA. Strictly speaking, however, it runs from 1998 to 2001: APA annual meetings have traditionally been held just before New Year's (since classicists are traditionally such heavy drinkers that if it were held shortly after New Year's, too many talks would have to be canceled due to hang-overs and missed flights). The meeting that would normally year 2000, however, has been shifted to early 2001. This was done to avoid the pedants' version of the Y2K problem: in the year 2000, any classicist who absentmindedly implies that he thinks 2000 was part of the twenty-first century is humiliated. If this happened in public it would be unbearable. In the future, meetings will have to continue at the beginning of the year, since otherwise there'd be a year with two meetings. People would throw out announcements for the second ``APA Annual Meeting 2001,'' thinking they were late-arriving announcements for the previous meeting (that happens too).
(US) a quadrilateral with exactly one pair of parallel sides;
(UK) a quadrilateral with no parallel sides.
(UK) a quadrilateral with exactly one pair of parallel sides;
(US) a quadrilateral with no parallel sides.
Euclid used _trapezium_ (i.e., trapezion) for both figures, but Proclus's 5th century commentaries on Euclid distinguished them, using the current UK sense. This sense was maintained in various languages until 1795, when Hutton's Mathematical Dictionary was published (in Britain) and stated that the reversed (current US) meanings were ``sometimes'' used.
Hutton's dictionary was so influential that the reversed meanings became prevalent (!), though not universal, for the next 80 years. After that time the old meanings seemed to reassert themselves -- in the UK but not in the US.
At least it's no longer a coyly anonymous feature, as it was until the eighties.
In 1923 the BRT was renamed Brooklyn-Manhattan Transit (BMT) company, q.v.
This trend will continue until, like every trend, it stops.
Well, not quite exactly, I guess, since the vowel sounds are slightly different. But other than that -- oh, yeah, the r sound is very different, but it's still an r sound. Of course, the t in French is articulated a bit more softly than in English, but apart from the fact that French initial t is never aspirated and English initial t always is, pretty much, it's the same sound. And even if it isn't, it doesn't really matter, since the t in ``tr'' represents a ``ch'' sound in English (though not in French).
I should probably mention the rock group here too. T. Rex fossils are mostly found in certain rock strata corresponding to its era, but that's not what I mean.
There were not very many praenomina in use. Given the high rates of infant mortality, if every newborn child had been given a name, many Roman families would quickly have run out of names. For whatever reason, Roman parents named their children on the ninth day after birth.
George Davis Chase, ``The Origin of the Roman Praenomina'' vol. 8 HSCP (1897), pp. 103-184 suggested (p. 135) that the first volume of the CIL (in the edition available to him) might give a fairly correct idea of the frequency of their use. He counted 2489 praenomina. The top ten, and their frequencies of occurrence, can be computed to be Lucius and Gaius (q.v.), each 21%; Marcus, 16%; Quintus, 10%; Publius, 9% (difference from previous not statistically significant); Gnaeus and Aulus, each 4%; Titus, 3%; Sextus, 2%; Manius, Numerius, Decimus, Servius, Tiberius, Spurius (q.v.), each 1%. Spurius means `illegitimate'; its 0.7% frequency of occurrence likely underestimated the actual frequency of bastards in the subject population, however that was defined, if only because two children of one woman would probably not get the same name.
Strictly speaking, gens is the (father's) clan and gentilicium is its name, but you save four syllables by using the first word for both. (Or compromise with the correct equivalent `gentile name.') A handy rule of thumb is that if (the nominative singular form of) a name ends in -ius it is the name of a gens; if it does not, it is not. Obviously this is a terrible rule unless you ignore praenomina, but this is natural since praenomina aren't usually spelled out.
The gentilicium functioned as a sort of surname. Ordinary alphabetization by name, in indices of various kinds, orders by gens first, next by cognomen, and last by praenomen.
The cognomen is best described as any other name tacked on at the end. At the least, a child would be born with one or more cognomina inherited from the father. Any such patrilineal cognomen obviously functioned like a surname, indicating a subdivision of a gens. In later life, a person often picked up an additional or replacement cognomen, which a man would then pass on to his children. The vast majority of cognomina have easily deciphered meanings, and it seems clear that in origin, they were all nicknames. Perhaps a third of the names described physical peculiarities. (E.g., Naso, cognomen of Ovid, implied a large nose; Strabo meant squint-eyed.) Cognomina were a Roman innovation -- other peoples of the Italian peninsula, until well-integrated in the Roman Empire, tended to use just a praenomen and gentilicium.
The Roman senate sometimes passed a decree banning a family from the continued use of a particular element of a name, usually a praenomen. The earliest recorded instances of this date back to the fourth c. BCE, but the practice tailed off in the principate and was apparently completely discontinued afterwards. Considering the small number of popular praenomina available, this might be regarded as a hardship imposed on a family, but it was specifically aimed to punish the bearer of a name by forbidding the continuation of his name, in effect erasing his memory. (Names were also occasionally erased from public documents. That practice has continued.) For details, see History and Silence: Purge and Rehabilitation of Memory in Late Antiquity, by Charles W. Hedrick, Jr. (Austin: Univ. of Texas Pr., 2000), ch. 4.
In 59 BCE, C. Julius Caesar and Marcus Calpurnius Bibulus were elected consuls. Bibulus had sufficient support in the Roman senate to stymie Caesar's first proposal there. Caesar made an end run around the senate by putting his proposal to a vote of a citizen assembly (comitia tributa, literally `assembly of the tribes'). There Caesar's popularity and mob rule won the day. Bibulus attempted what we might call a parliamentary maneuver, a technical move, to block a vote or prevent the vote being valid, but he was assaulted and humiliated. Thereafter he did not feel physically secure in public, and his powers as consul were virtually a dead letter. People joked that the consuls that year were not Bibulus and Caesar but Julius and Caesar.
On one occasion early in 44 BCE, when Caesar was king in all but name, some members of a crowd hailed him as king (rex). This was equivocal praise, since Rome had for centuries taken some pride precisely in the fact that it was a republic and not a kingdom (see the Brute entry). JC deflected the praise with a pun, saying he was Caesar, not Rex. (Both Rex and Caesar are cognomina.) The irony of this, of course, is that at the time he spoke it the phrase expressed humility, but later it would express pride: Caesar came to be the title of Roman emperors (etymon of César, Kaiser and Tsar in Spanish, German, and Russian, resp.).
Amber was the first material discovered to be triboelectric. Thales of Miletus is traditionally regarded as the first to mention amber's ability to attract light dry objects, but the evidence is a bit thin: Diogenes Laertius cites Aristotle and Hippias as reporting that, on the basis of the examples of lodestone and amber, Thales attributed souls to lifeless things. However, in surviving works Aristotle doesn't mention the amber, and Hippias is all lost. It's been suggested that "kai tou hlectrou" at the end of the critical sentence in Diog. Laert. is a late interpolation, but I have no information about the current status of that question. Anyway, Plato in Timaeus 80c claims that amber and lodestone don't really have the power of attraction, it's all done with metaphysical mirrors (I paraphrase), so evidently the phenomenon was well known by that time. Theophrastus mentions the attractive properties of amber and ``lyngourion'' [lynx urine] at 29 and 28 of Peri Lithôn (`On Stone'). The identity of lyngourion is the subject of much dispute, but from the name (and associated stories about the modest or secretive habits of the micturating lynx) its appearance is perhaps more certain than if it had been described by one of those pesky color words, leading at least a large minority to believe it's just a variety of amber. Pliny quotes or misquotes some authors on amber, and awareness of its general properties (again) seems to have been widespread. On the other hand, it seems to have been too dear for many authors, for they display rather second-hand knowledge, often failing to mention the need for rubbing.
Incidentally, the effect is somewhat misnamed. High pressure has the same effect; charging also arises from friction, but only because rubbing also produces close contact between the surfaces. It's the intimate contact that causes charge transfer between the bodies. Humans seem to have an intuitive understanding of this fact. Sammy Hagar's ``Heavy Metal'' is about the phenomenon. It begins ``Head bangers in [the excellent triboelectric material] leather / Sparks flyin' in the dead of the night [best time to observe them]'' and goes on to introduce the topics of lighting, power, and overload -- all standard topics in a sound electrical engineering curriculum. Later: ``Tight [high-pressure] pants [probably leather or plastic; friction may be implied here] and [insulating] lipstick / She's riding on a razor's edge.'' The latter is a reference to the discovery of Benjamin Franklin that charge separation is enhanced by a sharp contact under certain circumstances.'' Hence ``Ohh, can you feel the static / So many contacts being made.'' It's basically a Circuits 101 lab manual set to music.
The old ``trigamy'' defense was always bobbing up in bigamy cases, to wit, that the defendant charged with bigamously marrying some lady (A) in New York County while he had a legal wife (B)) living elsewhere, had in fact no such legal wife (B) as alleged, since there was still another wife (C) whom he had married even earlier, thus rendering the marriage upon which the bigamy was predicated a nullity.
It might seem that this defect could have been overcome by re-indicting the defendant and setting forth as the legal wife the newly discovered C (instead of B), but it sometimes happened that, this having been done and the defendant again brought to trial, he introduced proof of a still more remote marriage to D, invalidating all his subsequent marriages, without the recital of which the indictment continued to be defective. It sounds monstrously absurd, but it is quite true and perhaps goes to show that there is ``safety in numbers.''
Train's prosecutorial experience was mostly in the first decade of the twentieth century, but this book came out in 1939. Bigamy is still prosecuted, but I don't know if the trigamy defense is the prosecutorial stumbling block that it once was.
The new name for triglyceride is ``triacylglycerol.'' No one uses the new term. Possibly no one even knows how to pronounce it.
Look at it this way: every state except Alaska, Hawaii, and Maine has at least one border which meets the border of two other states (and Maine comes within miles of Massachusetts). Maybe Alaska, Hawaii, and Maine should be the tri-state nontri-state area.
The only point where more than three state borders meet in a point is the four-corners area of Arizona, Colorado, New Mexico, and Utah.
For more dyspepsia, visit the locale entry.
Look, i don't give a rat's ass about this stuff, okay? I'm just like you -- it bores me right down to my aching gums. Everybody feels the same way. That's why it's called ``ancient history,'' a term meaning nobody cares any more, get me some Novocaine. The only reason I put this entry in at all was to make a pointless comment about an inconsequential little town. It's ENTERTAINMENT, so I'm sure you can see that it's worth watching... but you probably have a concern -- and it's a reasonable one. You're thinking: ``okay, entertainment is fine, but am I going to be intelligently informed?'' On this I can more than assure you. You have my solemn vow: you will not be improved. Believe me, I know plenty of people who know this Roman history stuff backwards and forwards, and are complete idiots, so don't worry. How could this stuff even be educational? It's about dead people. Very dead people. It happened so long ago that, well -- anyway, even if it happened to be relevant somehow, it could be wrong! Heck, we often put in howling errors, just to keep things lively, and then, uh, forget to correct them for years at a time. There's really no danger, so read on.
Now Caesar and Crassus were tight, but Crassus and Pompey, who had been allies some years before, had grown suspicious of each other. (Proper apportionment of glory for victory over the Spartacus rebellion was one cause of friction.) Also, Caesar and Pompey were both very successful generals in foreign adventures; there was a rivalry there that became more important later (as we don't explain in any very great detail at the TCA entry). To cement the alliance, Caesar married off his daughter Julia to Pompey. You ought to remember this bit. Yeah, it's weird, but in some ways less weird than the Greeks. The triumvirate came to an end because Crassus wanted some foreign-wars glory for himself, but wasn't quite up to the task. He tried to conquer Parthia, but was captured by the Parthian general Surenas, who had Crassus killed in a wonderfully appropriate way: molten gold was poured down his throat. (No eighth amendment yet.) Okay, TMI. Pick up the pace.
Julia died in childbirth, Pompey married the daughter of one of Julius Caesar's bitterest enemies, Caesar crossed the Rubicon, there was a civil war, Pompey was killed, Julius Caesar became emperor in all but name. Julius Caesar was assassinated, and the Senate appointed a second, somewhat less famous triumvirate, an official one with a standard abbreviation: III Vir RPC.
The third famous triumvirate involved Napoleon and two guys I have justly forgotten. Napoleon said something clever about what was required for a triumvirate to function properly, which I'm trying to track down.
A theorem is obvious if it's easy to see, to grasp. A theorem is trivial if the logical relations leading to it are relatively direct. Generally, theorems that are trivial are obvious. If the logical relations leading to it are straight, it's easy to get to. And conversely. Thus the sloppy conflation of terms.
With possible apologies to Goldsmith, the above distinction is true, and obvious, and not to the point. The truth is that the triviality of a proposition is not an absolute statement about its proof, but a subjective statement about how difficult it was for the user of the word to come up with the proof. The judging of theorems as trivial to a greater or lesser degree could, in principle, be used to compare the difficulty of different theorems. In practice, however, it is never used for this comparison. Instead, the declaration that a theorem is trivial is used in the machismo of mathematics, to deride another mathematician for difficulty in coming up with a proof the speaker has already thought of.
Mathematics is viciously competitive. It epitomizes the impossible-to-attribute mot that ``academic battles are so vicious because so little is at stake.''
One way this viciousness comes out is in tricks. To take a trivial example, one might write
a =/= b =/= c =/= a.(Here I have used
=/=to represent the not-equals sign, often written != in modern computer languages and not available in ISO Latin-1.)
It is an extremely common careless practice of many mathematicians to write only the first two inequalities --
a =/= b =/= c-- when what they really mean is that the three numbers are all different. The shorter expression leaves open the possibility that a = c, though their common value differs from b. A ``trick'' then would be to write the triple inequality as a trap for the unwary to criticize as superfluous.
In the preceding example, the trick is to write more than is usual, but precisely what is necessary. In the following, one writes less than is usual, but still as much as is necessary.
Consider an operator L acting on some space, x and y any elements of that space. It is a space over some field, and a and b will be elements of that field. To be concrete, L could be a transformation on three-dimensional Euclidean space, x and y vectors in the space, a and b real numbers. (For another example, L could be a differential operator, x and y functions, a and b complex numbers). To indicate that L is a linear operator, it is widespread, though not universal practice, to write
L(ax+by) = aLx + bLy .However, it is trivial to show that
L(ax+y) = aLx + Lyis equivalent. I'm told this is a multiple trap. First, in the right circumstances, it is conceivable that someone might fail to realize that it is a statement of linearity. Second, someone who did recognize it might still incorrectly suppose that it is deficient and criticize it. The way I discovered that this qualifies as a trick was by inadvertently tricking someone, or rather, having him trick himself. The safest thing to do, if you are puzzled, is to make no comment. You won't learn any math that way, but it's probably worth it.
Nowadays, the organic chemicals that remain to be ``new'' mostly have complex structures and correspondingly inconvenient systematic names. Hence, trivial names are assigned for convenience of discussion. (The situation with drug names, however, is more complicated by design.) One modern trivial name that was assigned a name on the old scheme (i.e., based loosely on its plant source) was megaphone, a ketone (hence the -one suffix) isolated from the roots of Aniba megaphylla.
Sometimes on the basis of the quickly-determined structure. We have (or will soon have) three entries for such graphic trivial names. All the chemicals named have four- or eight-membered rings or both, but not all have four-fold symmetry.
Some names are coined to honor a respected mentor. For example, an article in Tetrahedron Letters (vol. 19, #5, pp. 429-432) is entitled ``Louisfieserone, an unusual flavanone derivative from Indigofera suffruticosa, Mill.'' The systematic name of the compound is [2S,4bS,5R,7aR,9S]-5,6,7a,9-tetrahydro-4b-hydroxy-7a,9,10,10-tetramethyl-2-phenyl-5,9-methano-2H-furo[2,3-f]benzopyran-4,8(3H)-dione, which you may agree is more likely to trip your tongue than to fall trippingly off of it. The author list for the letter is longer, though less liable to transcription error. Nevertheless, I will just give it as Xorge A. Dominguez, et al., and you will be grateful. The last sentence of the Acknowledgements reads ``[t]he compound was named in honor of Professor Louis Feiser with whom X.A.D. had the [privilege] of working.'' Dominguez continued using this term [Planta Med. vol. 34, p. 172 (1978); Phytochemistry vol. 19, p. 1262 (1980)] along with isolouisfieserone, but the name -- or perhaps the compound -- doesn't seem to have caught on. The better-motivated buckminsterfullerene (with fullerene and fullerenes) has been much more successful.
Troff is a modification of nroff; nroff was a New program that replaced roff. (Just as GNU Nvi replaces vi/vim. Typically the old names are aliased to the new programs, and users may not notice the changes.)
Roff, in turn, had been inspired by the ancestral formatter runoff (one version was DSR). The term runoff reflected the idea that these programs would be used to ``run off'' a good copy of a document (as opposed to running off a sloppy unformatted copy, hmm). Runoff, roff, and nroff all worked with monospaced text (printing ASCII terminals, line printers, etc.); troff used proportional fonts and produced ``typeset'' output, hence the name.
Troff then begat ditroff, which produced ``typeset'' output on any of several devices (hence the DI); ditroff begat a number of competing derivatives. A very good one of these was sqtroff.
Full disclosure: the source for the preceding content of this entry (except for this typist's intrusive emendations) was for several years responsible for maintaining and enhancing sqtroff. As far as pronunciation is concerned, this looks like an Arabic dialect of Polish to me. You're on your own on this one. Oh wait -- this just in: ``In general, when a Unix command is named by prefixing a letter to an existing command, the convention is to pronounce the letter separately.'' FWIW.
Full disclosure of relevant data that readers need to make informed judgments is a wonderful thing. If Geraldo Rivera, or whatever his name is, reported his involvement in coding, say, every time he presented one of his famously and sometimes literally hard-hitting reports on computer software, say -- well, it would be a different world, now wouldn't it?
Interestingly, the English language Wiktionary for some reason has a Trog entry that identifies Trog as a German masculine noun meaning `[feeding] trough,' but there's no mention of the fact that trog is a form of the verb trügen (`to deceive'). (It's the third-person singular preterite form: er trog, `he deceived.') Dutch and Icelandic have parallel nouns spelled trog, but I'm not going to look into the verb situation.
Also called a pony or word-for-word.
In an interview with Chicago Tribune reporter Susan Chandler, TRU president Peter Zollo said that ``The key to marketing to teenagers is understanding that they are not a homogeneous group.'' [Page one of the business section, 1999.08.12.]
What he means, as he makes clear, is that ``teenage society'' (his term) is stratified into three (oh, big number) groups. The first group is the ``edge'' teens:
The second group is the ``influencers'':
The third and largest group consists of the mainstream ``conformers.''
By targeting the influencers, marketers can reach almost 80% of teens with their message. You could say that the influencers are a bellwether of teen trends. A bellwether is a sheep leading sheep.
TRU also does some pro bono work (anti-tobacco, etc.).
Although he doesn't come right out and say it, Zollo evidently identifies a systematic lifecycle for brand popularity. Each group reverses its preferences as soon as they are adopted by a group perceived as less cool than itself. Thus, the (bleeding) edge teens (the freakazoids, if you will excuse an obsolete term from my own youth) will drop anything adopted by the smug (group two). Those anointed will in turn reject a fashion once their adoption of it has been influential with the nobodies (or proles, if you will excuse a term from George Orwell's 1984). Notice that from this point of view, it may make economic sense for the influencers to adopt the most expensive fashions, since this will delay the moment when general adoption forces them to switch to a new fashion. The designated conformists (i.e., the third and bottom echelon of ``teen society,'' in contradistinction to the other two, also conformist echelons) also have a contemned uncool group, whose adoption of a trend signals the time when a new fashion must be taken up. That group is their mothers.
[I would generalize the ``slower (right)'' comment, but I don't know how it works in any drive-on-the-left countries, or really anywhere outside North America.]
Even though no one ever knowingly steals anything from the faculty lounge refrigerator, I tag my diet Coke cans.
Nancy Sinatra had her solitary hit in 1966 with Lee Hazelwood's ``These Boots Were Made For Walking.'' Singing ability is not guaranteed heritable, but it was a catchy-enough ditty and she looked good in boots. Poor little rich girl. Many years later she tried to relaunch her singing career with a Playboy pictorial. She was paid for the pictorial up front, so to speak, but I don't know if she lost it all on the subsequent tour (which flopped quickly). The perils of having a famous dad. ``Boots'' has since been covered by Boy George and KMFDM. I'd hesitate to use the term ``tribute performance'' here without further research. Anyway, one line in that song went ``You keep lying, when you oughta be truthin'.'' But it seemed forced and artificial like, well, um, let's just leave it at that.
The question arises, is there a naturally-occurring single-word antonym for the verb `lie'? There are certainly synonyms -- dissemble, dissimulate (as well, amusingly, as certain uses of transitive simulate). The words mendaciloquent and mendation suggest a regularly formed verb mendate meaning `lie,' but this is apparently not attested.
Sooth, long a synonym of truth and true, has seldom been verbed. The most fitting word seems to be level. Normally, one doesn't baldly ``level'' but instead levels with s.o. Still, it's intransitive.
One is reminded of the Houyhnhnms (in part IV of Gulliver's Travels), to whom lying was so foreign that they needed a circumlocution to express the idea -- ``say the Thing which is not.'' As Dr. Gulliver explains parenthetically: ``For they have no Word in their Language to express Lying or Falsehood.'' They must have a hell of a time with proofs by contradiction.
You don't have access to the rest of this entry.
Tuberous Sclerosis is a genetic disorder that causes benign tumors to form in any of the vital organs - including the brain, eyes, heart, kidneys and skin. It is often first recognized because of epileptic seizures and/or varying degrees of development delay. TS occurs in both sexes and in all races and/or ethnic groups. There are approximately 25,000 to 40,000 individuals with TS in the U.S. and approximately 1,000,000 worldwide
``Benign'' is a technical term meaning that a neoplasm doesn't grow like a cancer. The above demonstrates that benign tumors may not be.
TSEC's numbers don't seem to follow any business-sector pattern, so it should be possible to have some kind of check-sum or error digit. It doesn't look like they do: Namchow Chemical Industrial is 1702, Cheng Hong Chemical 1705, Grape King 1707, Formosan Union Chemical 1709... Hmmm. Okay, maybe there is a business-sector pattern here. Grape King turns out to be a chemical and pharmaceutical company. But they also specialize in manufacturing ``functional drinks.'' I hope that doesn't include any sort of Kool-Aid.
Oh, here's something more detailed:
Grape King Inc. The Group's principal activities are manufacturing dairy products and preparation of pharmaceuticals, medicine, wine and softdrinks. Products distributed by the Group include probiotics ``come Sweat 7 strains granule,'' ``come Pei Erh 10 strains granule", immunomodulatory tonics ``995 super nutrition liquid and capsule,'' mushroom mycelia from submerged culture such as Gano-derma lucidum, Cordyceps sinensis, Agaricus blazei, Antrodia camphorata, Hericium erinaceus and Morchella esculenta. Other activities include trading of raw materials, fermentation, wine starter and feed additives.
Gee, you know, I think I'll just have a glass of water, if you don't mind.
TSEC seems to be the initialism preferred by TSEC itself, but TSE seems to be more common (and TAI is also used). As it happens, TSEC is not listed on TSEC, (if it's publicly traded at all), so it doesn't have a number. The Taiwan OTC Exchange, however, is TWO.
TSI does some research on cariogenicity, and scientific product testing and endorsement (indicated by a trademark of happy-tooth logo). They also promote awareness of toothfriendly sweets, and there are some interesting semitechnical pages at the TSI website.
There's a Japanese organization JATS (Japanese Association for Toothfriendly Sweets) and a Korean organization TSK (Toothfriendly Sweets Korea).
To judge from the newsletters on line, it seems like they had a brief burst of activity in 1995-7, with new activity in Korea and Argentina (Acción Diente Feliz) in particular, but that now they are resting on their dental floss.
You want it WHEN??!!
Here's some more from Dallas Semiconductor.
Just a guess.
Tennessee -- isn't that where the Scopes ``Monkey trial'' was held? Yeah -- Dayton, Tennessee, 1925. Oh, that Clarence Darrow -- he was impressive. Sure made a fool outta that Bible-thumper Bill Bryan. Too bad he lost the case. Actually not too bad. The ACLU strategy was to lose the case locally and win on appeal, so that a decision striking down the state law (which forbade the teaching of evolution in school) would be effective over the area of jurisdiction of a higher court. It didn't work out. On January 17, 1927 the Supreme Court of Tennessee reversed the conviction on technical grounds.
Here's how they decided the case: they found that the clear intent of the statute was to forbid the teaching the theory of evolution in public schools, and that this was fine because the state could tell its employees what to do. It was not in violation of the constitutional protections against an establishment of religion because, as the court chose to see it, the statute did not include a positive requirement to teach a doctrine that corresponded to the beliefs of any religion. The court noticed, however, that the (minimum) fine of $100 had been assessed by the judge in the case.
According to the Tennessee State constitution, however, any fine in excess of $50 had to be assessed by a jury. Even the Supreme Court was bound by this, so the judgement was reversed. It apparently would not have constituted double jeopardy to retry the case for the purpose of assessing a fine, but Chief Justice Green wrote for the majority:
The Court is informed that the plaintiff in error [Scopes: plaintiff in a writ-of-error appeal, convicted defendant in the original case] is no longer in the service of the State. We see nothing to be gained by prolonging the life of this bizarre case. On the contrary, we think the peace and dignity of the State, which all criminal prosecutions are brought to redress, will be better conserved by the entry of a nolle prosequi herein. Such a course is suggested to the Attorney-General.
Chapter 27 of the Acts of 1925, known as the Tennessee Anti-Evolution Act (and also as the Butler Act, after the fellow who introduces it) remained in effect until 1967 (repealed in May, repeal effective September 1). In 1968 the US Supreme Court found unconstitutional the prohibition of the teaching of evolution. TSTA was first established (as the Science Association of Tennessee) in 1975.
A subscription to a newsletter called ``Silencing Quarterly'' is included with TSTA membership. Oh wait, that was ``Sciencing Quarterly.''
TSTA is affiliated with the NEA.
If you have at least a nodding acquaintance with the sound values of the fifty-sound table, you can skip ahead to the paragraph captioned Nonintuitive Use. If not, then the next few paragraphs will provide a sufficient orientation. (And if you know the fifty-sound table very well, I doubt you'll learn anything new from this entry anyway.)
In some columns of the fifty-sound table, all the kana have exactly the same consonant. E.g., second column ka, ki, ku, ke, ko; fifth column na, ni, nu, ne, no, etc. In some columns, however, the consonant sound is modified by assimilation to the following vowel. This happens mostly in the second (i) and third (u) rows. The third column, for example, is sa, shi, su, se, so. (In some native Japanese accents I have heard, the si is incompletely assimilated and sounds half-lisped, like ss-shi. It's worth noting also that while final vowels tend to be weakly articulated in Japanese, the effect is especially strong with word-final su. Some pronounce it simply as a final s and some with a lax but palatalized u that would be written ssü in German. Pronunciation is context-dependent, of course, but I'm thinking mostly of the common verb ending, as in desu, the copula.)
Similarly, the sixth column is ha, hi, fu, he, ho. You know Japanese words like Hitachi and hibachi, and Fujitsu and futon, but you don't know any Japanese words with fi or hu. (Actually, fu is sometimes transliterated hu, but it's not common.) Note that here the f is a bilabial sound, represented by phi in the IPA, so the articulation is similar to h. (It also takes more effort to say than the labiodental f of English. One native Japanese-speaker told me he started out using the Japanese eff in English, but found it tiring and realized he had to switch.) Incidentally, ha is a common particle (one of the two main subject markers, in particular) and in that application is pronounced wa.
The fourth column exhibits the greatest assimilation: ta, chi, tsu, te, to. It's possible to represent a ti sound by the kana pair te-i, but this seems to occur mostly or only with non-Chinese loan words (and so to be written only in the katakana script). I've read that the tsu kana is sometimes transliterated tu, but I've never seen it that I can recall, and I don't think I've heard ``tu'' in Japanese. I wouldn't know how to represent the sound /tu/ using kana.
The kana ya, yu, and yo are also used small. Where the hi-ya kana pair in the same size is simply pronounced hiya (git along, little doge of Venice), with a small ya it's pronounced hya. The same pattern holds with most second-row (-i) consonant-vowel pairs. So, for example, chi-(ya), chi-(yu), and chi-(yo) are pronounced cha, chu, and cho.
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