July 15, 2010
Apparently, I Am Schizophrenic...
... or maybe I'm just "protean". I like the sound of that much better. It has a ring of infectiously pretentious inscrutability about it that's hard to resist. Via Retriever, I ran across alittle toy that purports to tell you which incredibly famous author your writing most resembles. I pasted in 8-10 different snippets from various posts and got a different result every time.
Ernest Hemingway (!)
Arthur C. Clarke
I forgot to write the others down but I'd never heard of them anyway.
Only got the same result once - a writer I'd never heard of, either:
Not sure what it means that I got so many different results, or that I supposedly write like a slew of male authors I haven't read much, and who don't write much like each other. Perhaps I'm secretly a man trapped in a woman's body (which is odd because I've always felt more like a woman trapped in a woman's body). Or perhaps I just have multiple personalities.
Hopefully it's just the algorithm. Anyway, enjoy. This, also. I'm pretty sure I've posted that one before, but it seemed to fit the general theme and I thought some of you might have fun with it.
Posted by Cassandra at July 15, 2010 02:06 PM
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Whoever David Foster Wallace is, he must be an excellent writer. Despite submitting numerous samples, his name was the only one that came up for me. I wanted to check to see if it was working properly, so I submitted an excerpt from Ann Coulter's latest column and another from Rush Limbaugh's page. Apparently, Ann writes in a similar fashion as us, but Rush's speech is similar in structure to Stephen King's writing.
Posted by: Smart Grunt at July 15, 2010 03:19 PM
I'm so confused...
I pulled one of my more verbose comments out of mothballs and the result was Chuck Palahniuk.
Next I pasted a couple of other pieces from my archived dribble and the result was David Foster Wallace.
So I went to a C++ source code archived in a corner of the WayBack® Mosheen and that came back as James Joyce!?
*slowly backs away from the keyboard to reattach the ankle manacle to the honey-do chain. Ambles off singing that's the sound of the men working on the chain-gang*
Posted by: bt_resident_neanderthal_hun at July 15, 2010 03:56 PM
I never did care much for Joyce :p
I wasn't as interested in who I came out as, as in the fact that I kept coming out as so many different authors - it just struck me as amusing for some reason.
Oh well, consistency was never my strong point.
Posted by: Cass at July 15, 2010 04:06 PM
I got some Arthur C. Clarke and David Foster Wallace matches at first, but then branched off into Margaret Atwood and Mario Puzo. I think the algorithm may be just a tad funky. I wonder if it randomly assign someone from a list of a dozen or so authors?
I confess to never having heard of Mr. Wallace. 'Wallace's novels often combine various writing modes or voices, and incorporate jargon and vocabulary (sometimes invented) from a wide variety of fields. His writing featured self-generated abbreviations and acronyms, long multi-clause sentences, and a notable use of explanatory footnotes and endnotes—often nearly as expansive as the text proper. . . . Wallace claimed that the notes were used to disrupt the linearity of the narrative, to reflect his perception of reality without jumbling the entire structure. He suggested that he could have instead jumbled up the sentences, "but then no one would read it."'
Well, OK then.
Posted by: Texan99 at July 15, 2010 04:37 PM
Hey, this is fun. If you put in quotations from Jane Austen, you get back "Jane Austen." But quotations from others, like Thomas Hardy, get you "Lewis Carroll," while Faulkner returns a "Raymond Chandler." I managed to get a Dan Brown out of another piece of my own writing.
Posted by: Texan99 at July 15, 2010 05:03 PM
Ooh! I got a "Dan Brown" too! He was one of the ones I forgot to write down :p
Posted by: Cass at July 15, 2010 05:06 PM
I write like Dan Brown, Dan Brown, David Foster Wallace, Dan Brown, Dan Brown, and Dan Brown.
At least I'm *consistently* schizophrenic...
Posted by: BillT at July 15, 2010 06:02 PM
Apparently plugging in Chesty Puller quotes gets Bram Stoker. Somehow that seems quiet apt.
Posted by: Smart Grunt at July 15, 2010 06:06 PM
I got Vladimir Nabokov how it arrived at that conclusion, based on what I entered, totally escapes me. I entered an abstract from some journal article I wrote a few months ago.
Dry as dust to Lolita, go figure.
Posted by: Allen at July 15, 2010 06:21 PM
I plugged in a few hundred words that I clipped from some lawyer's blog disclaimer and, guess what? David Foster Wallace! Now either this Wallace guy is the most boring author in the whole world or (more likely) the "I Write Like" website is run by, guess who? David Foster Wallace!
Which got me thinking....
It all started when our cliche, protagonistic figure, David Foster Wallace, woke up in a imaginery desert. It was the third time it had happened. Feeling ridiculously worried, David Foster Wallace stroked a carrot, thinking it would make him feel better (but as usual, it did not). Before the all-seeing eyes of a perpetually displeased diety, he realized that his beloved Stuffed Marmoset was missing! Immediately he called his vicariously jealous friend, Cassandra. David Foster Wallace had known Cassandra for (plus or minus) 20 years, the majority of which were saucy ones. Cassandra was unique. She was charismatic though sometimes a little... abrasive. David Foster Wallace called her anyway, for the situation was urgent.
Cassandra picked up to a very ecstatic David Foster Wallace. Cassandra calmly assured him that most legless puppies belch before mating, yet Indonesian devil cats usually surreptitiously turn red *after* mating. She had no idea what that meant; she was only concerned with distracting David Foster Wallace. Why was Cassandra trying to distract David Foster Wallace? Because she had snuck out from David Foster Wallace's with the Stuffed Marmoset only eleven days prior. It was a curious little Stuffed Marmoset... how could she resist?
It didn't take long before David Foster Wallace got back to the subject at hand: his Stuffed Marmoset. Cassandra sighed. Relunctantly, Cassandra invited him over, assuring him they'd find the Stuffed Marmoset. David Foster Wallace grabbed his rhinocerus and disembarked immediately. After hanging up the phone, Cassandra realized that she was in trouble. She had to find a place to hide the Stuffed Marmoset and she had to do it skillfully. She figured that if David Foster Wallace took the Jap Trap, she had take at least three minutes before David Foster Wallace would get there. But if he took the spd rdr? Then Cassandra would be very screwed.
Before she could come up with any reasonable ideas, Cassandra was interrupted by three selfish Andrew Sullivans that were lured by her Stuffed Marmoset. Cassandra belched; 'Not again', she thought. Feeling puzzled, she aggressively reached for her ripened avocado and recklessly attacked every last one of them. Apparently this was an adequate deterrent--the discouraged critters began to scurry back toward the haunted thicket, squealing with discontent. She exhaled with relief. That's when she heard the spd rdr rolling up. It was David Foster Wallace.
As he pulled up, he felt a sense of urgency. He had had to make an unscheduled stop at Texaco to pick up a 12-pack of dangerous oil-soaked rags, so he knew he was running late. With a hasty leap, David Foster Wallace was out of the spd rdr and went charismatically jaunting toward Cassandra's front door. Meanwhile inside, Cassandra was panicking. Not thinking, she tossed the Stuffed Marmoset into a box of wolverines and then slid the box behind her giraffe. Cassandra was worried but at least the Stuffed Marmoset was concealed. The doorbell rang.
'Come in,' Cassandra indiscriminately purred. With a apt push, David Foster Wallace opened the door. 'Sorry for being late, but I was being chased by some insensitive self-righteous ass in a hippie-pleasing hybrid vehicle,' he lied. 'It's fine,' Cassandra assured him. David Foster Wallace took a seat tragically close to where Cassandra had hidden the Stuffed Marmoset. Cassandra yawned trying unsuccessfully to hide her nervousness. 'Uhh, can I get you anything?' she blurted. But David Foster Wallace was distracted. Happy as a frickin' monkey, Cassandra noticed a annoying look on David Foster Wallace's face. David Foster Wallace slowly opened his mouth to speak.
'...What's that smell?'
Cassandra felt a stabbing pain in her prostate when David Foster Wallace asked this. In a moment of disbelief, she realized that she had hidden the Stuffed Marmoset right by her oscillating fan. 'Wh-what? I don't smell anything..!' A lie. A abrasive look started to form on David Foster Wallace's face. He turned to notice a box that seemed clearly out of place. 'Th-th-those are just my grandma's ninja stars from when she used to have pet venomous koalas. She, uh...dropped 'em by here earlier'. David Foster Wallace nodded with fake acknowledgement...then, before Cassandra could react, David Foster Wallace recklessly lunged toward the box and opened it. The Stuffed Marmoset was plainly in view.
David Foster Wallace stared at Cassandra for what what must've been three days. A few unsatisfying minutes later, Cassandra groped charismatically in David Foster Wallace's direction, clearly desperate. David Foster Wallace grabbed the Stuffed Marmoset and bolted for the door. It was locked. Cassandra let out a eccentric chuckle. 'If only you hadn't been so protective of that thing, none of this would have happened, David Foster Wallace,' she rebuked. Cassandra always had been a little oafish, so David Foster Wallace knew that reconciliation was not an option; he needed to escape before Cassandra did something crazy, like... start chucking ninja stars at her or something. A few unsatisfying minutes later, he gripped his Stuffed Marmoset tightly and made a dash toward the window, diving headlong through the glass panels.
Cassandra looked on, blankly. 'What the hell? That seemed excessive. The other door was open, you know.' Silence from David Foster Wallace. 'And to think, I varnished that window frame seven days ago...it never ends!' Suddenly she felt a tinge of concern for David Foster Wallace. 'Oh. You ..okay?' Still silence. Cassandra walked over to the window and looked down. David Foster Wallace was gone.
Just yonder, David Foster Wallace was struggling to make his way through the imaginery desert behind Cassandra's place. David Foster Wallace had severely hurt his scalp during the window incident, and was starting to lose strength. Another pack of feral Andrew Sullivans suddenly appeared, having caught wind of the Stuffed Marmoset. One by one they latched on to David Foster Wallace. Already weakened from his injury, David Foster Wallace yielded to the furry onslaught and collapsed. The last thing he saw before losing consciousness was a buzzing horde of Andrew Sullivans running off with his Stuffed Marmoset.
But then God came down with His congenial smile and restored David Foster Wallace's Stuffed Marmoset. Feeling displeased, God smote the Andrew Sullivans for their injustice. Then He got in His deliciously practical 4-door and bolted away with the fortitude of half a million venomous koalas running from a misshapen pack of albino cats. David Foster Wallace flipped with joy when he saw this. His Stuffed Marmoset was safe. It was a good thing, too, because in nine minutes his favorite TV show, The View, was going to come on (followed immediately by 'When long-haired sea monkeys meet bloody glove'). David Foster Wallace was thrilled. And so, everyone except Cassandra and a few rusty razor blade-toting South American hissing sloths lived blissfully happy, forever after.
*** L337 Story Generator v1.0
*** Written by Derek Clark. Copyright © www.the-elite.net ~ 2004-2005
*** Forever pwning with earnest.
Posted by: spd rdr at July 15, 2010 06:31 PM
"Cassandra felt a stabbing pain in her prostate when David Foster Wallace asked this."
Mum's the word...
Where's my 11 foot pole?
Posted by: Allen at July 15, 2010 06:37 PM
I didn't do the first link, but I submitted a SpouseBUZZ post for the second and it told me I was an ESTP (The Doer).
Um, okay. Whatevs. Every other MB test I've taken has thrown me an ENTJ (the Field Marshal). I'm all "Achtung" like that, I guess.
My Dad is a City Manager, the last devoted home of TQM, and as such he LOVES tests like MB. I've taken them all thanks to his forwards. I'm apparently also "Orange", but I don't remember what test that is.
Posted by: airforcewife at July 15, 2010 07:02 PM
If anyone needs me, I'll be in the bar... abrading my prostate :p
Posted by: Cass at July 15, 2010 07:04 PM
*frantically pouring corbomite over the 10-foot pole before DocLady Sly arrives*
Posted by: BillT at July 15, 2010 07:12 PM
Loved that story generator thing, spd rdr. Off to check it out.
Thanks for the link, Cass. Surfing on an IPhone so as not to think too much about the kid's driving as we head up to NH. Yikes, she just took a last minute swerve for 91 and nearly drove into the divider in the Exact spot in Hartford where I did 23 years ago (Mr Retriever nearly broke off our engagement then and there, so appalled by my driving)
Posted by: Retriever at July 15, 2010 07:37 PM
spd is a veritable feast of manliness :p
*running like helk*
Hmmm... teens driving in NH. I believe it was NH where I first topped 100 mph. It was worth it to hear my best friend scream.
Sometimes I do not know how kids survive adolescence.
Posted by: Cass at July 15, 2010 07:45 PM
Well, I certainly think David Foster Wallace has an excellent first name and middle name...not so sure about his last name.
Posted by: david foster at July 15, 2010 08:58 PM
My husband tells me he tests as "General Patton." I wouldn't dare take that test (strictly WWII generals, I think). Which general was overly averse to loss, bookish, and introverted, with an extremely weak grasp of tactics?
Posted by: Texan99 at July 15, 2010 09:48 PM
I kinda like the last name, especially considering that in meatspace it's my middle name :)
Posted by: David Foster Wallace at July 15, 2010 09:50 PM
Dry as dust to Lolita, go figure.
I once took one of those "Which great work of literature are you?" quizzes.
Lolita. Aye yay yay. And me sure that I would be War and Peace.
Posted by: David Foster Wallace at July 15, 2010 09:51 PM
According to the site at the This, also link, I am: ISTP - The Mechanics
(Which makes sense, given my occupation)
Also, it basically says (among other things) that I'm a practical thinker.
Posted by: camojack at July 16, 2010 01:23 AM
Holy cats! After analyzing the same piece of writing for both, I find that not only am I ESFP - The Performers (aren't ALL bloggers, in some sense?) but I write like Shakespeare!?! Wow. That's a lotta pressure for little ole me...
The entertaining and friendly type. They are especially attuned to pleasure and beauty and like to fill their surroundings with soft fabrics, bright colors and sweet smells. They live in the present moment and don´t like to plan ahead - they are always in risk of exhausting themselves.
The enjoy work that makes them able to help other people in a concrete and visible way. They tend to avoid conflicts and rarely initiate confrontation - qualities that can make it hard for them in management positions.)
Posted by: HomefrontSix at July 16, 2010 02:24 AM