emc wrote:Expounding on UP...
WHAT'S UP? - Or as my daughter likes to say, "wuzup"... Is this a mental or directional question? Why do we throw this question out so casually to people we see? Perhaps it is because we want to make certain that, like ourselves, no one else knows the answer either. This is possibly the most complicated question perplexing mankind (womankind is far more likely to know)
Charles Dickens » "Going into Society" (1858)
"Halloa!" I says to the young man, "
What's up!" He rubs his eyebrows
with his toes, and he says, "I can't imagine, Mr. Magsman"--which he
never could imagine nothin, and was monotonous company.
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H.G. Wells » The Invisible Man (1897)
.
"
What's up?" said the Mariner, concerned.
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H.G. Wells » The First Men in the Moon (1901)
.
Four windows were open in order that the gravitation of the moon might act upon all the substances in our sphere. I found I was no longer floating freely in space, but that my feet were resting on the glass in the direction of the moon. The blankets and cases of provisions were also creeping slowly down the glass, and presently came to rest so as to block out a portion of the view. It seemed to me, of course, that I looked "down" when I looked at the moon. On earth "down" means earthward, the way things fall, and "up" the reverse direction. Now the pull of gravitation was towards the moon, and for all I knew to the contrary our earth was overhead. And, of course, when all the Cavorite blinds were closed, "down" was towards the centre of our sphere, and " up " towards its outer wall. It was curiously unlike earthly experience, too, to have the light coming up to one. On earth light falls from above, or comes slanting down sideways, but here it came from beneath our feet, and to see our shadows we had to look up.
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<<H. G. Wells is a lunar crater that is located on the far side of the Moon, behind the northeastern limb. It lies to the south of the Millikan crater, and to the northeast of Cantor crater. Just to the southeast is the smaller Tesla crater. This large formation is most notable for the extremely battered state of its outer rim. Little or nothing remains of the original rim, so completely has it been eroded and incised by smaller craters. As a result the crater floor is now surrounded by a ring of irregular peaks and worn crater valleys. This rugged surroundings intrudes only part way into the interior, while the remaining floor is relatively level and in some places gently rolling. The interior is marked only by a multitude of tiny craterlets.>>
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James Joyce » A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man (1916).
He drank another cup of hot tea and Fleming said:
--
What's up? Have you a pain or what's up with you?
-- I don't know, Stephen said.
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James Joyce » Ulysses (1922) Episode 8, The Lestrygonians
http://www.robotwisdom.com/jaj/ulysses/index.html
<<Here at the low point of his day, Bloom's memories dwell on the
disasters of his past. He drops the paper 'throwaway' off O'Connell
bridge. He meets an old girlfriend, Josie Breen, whose husband is making
a spectacle of himself over a prank postcard that reads, mysteriously,
"UP". The recurring motif of pins echoes the Lestrygonians'
cannibal-teeth in Homer.
-- Woke me up in the night, she said. Dream he had, a nightmare.
. Indiges.
. -- Said the ace of spades was walking up the stairs.
. -- The ace of spades! Mr Bloom said.
. She took a folded postcard from her handbag.
. -- Read that, she said. He got it this morning.
. -- What is it? Mr Bloom asked, taking the card. U.P.?
. -- U.P: up, she said. Someone taking a rise out of him. It's a
great shame for them whoever he is.
. -- Indeed it is, Mr Bloom said.
. She took back the card, sighing.
. -- And now he's going round to Mr Menton's office. He's going to
take an action for ten thousand pounds, he
. says.
She folded the card into her untidy bag and snapped the catch.
. Same blue serge dress she had two years ago, the nap bleaching.
Seen its best days. Wispish hair over her ears.
. And that dowdy toque: three old grapes to take the harm out of it.
Shabby genteel. She used to be a tasty
. dresser. Lines round her mouth. Only a year or so older than Molly.
. See the eye that woman gave her, passing. Cruel. The unfair sex.
. He looked still at her, holding back behind his look his
discontent. Pungent mockturtle oxtail mulligatawny. I'm hungry too.
Flakes of pastry on the gusset of her dress: daub of sugary flour stuck
to her cheek. Rhubarb tart with liberal fillings, rich fruit interior.
Josie Powell that was. In Luke Doyle's long ago, Dolphin's Barn, the
charades.
. U.p: up.
. Change the subject.
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