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JUNK E-MAILS are annoying enough. Cold-calls from salespeople—who
invariably catch you just as you’re about to sit down to dinner—are worse.
So spare a thought for residents of Washington Township, a suburb of
Indianapolis, who last August suffered a doubly irritating plague: a spate of
late-night phone calls from a berserk computer.

Marion County sheriff Jim Cottey started out with the best of democratic
intentions. He wanted to tell residents about a forthcoming town meeting, so he
got the TeleResearch Corporation to call 6000 phones with a recorded invitation
between 9 am and 9 pm on the Friday before the meeting. Lightning
struck—as it does, frequently, in that part of the world—at 9.42 pm
on the Thursday. The computer shook itself and set to work—and carried on
calling 1000 people an hour until 3.30 in the morning.

The townspeople were not amused.

A FEW weeks ago we presented our research paper title of the month,
concerning the well known “nonsense-mediated decay factor” (22 September). Now
we discover that The Psychologist topped that with a whole two pages of
titles collected by G. Neil Martin, of the Annals of Improbable
Research.

Some imply interesting research expenses claims, as with “Beer consumption as
a function of music and the presence of others” (Journal of the Pennsylvania
Academy of Science, vol 65, p 134), or the more puzzling “Effects of
alcohol and frustration on experimental graffiti” (Scandinavian Journal of
Psychology, vol 39, p 201).

Others were probably cheaper, and possibly more fun, such as “Sex differences
in sin preferences” (Psychological Reports,vol 21, p 752) or “Gender
differences in book carrying—a controlled replication” (Perceptual and
Motor Skills, vol 76, p 349). Yet others are plain weird: “The hand vacuum
cleaner: friend or foe?” (Journal of Urology, vol 128, p 829).

One of the above may, possibly, be the spoof sown among the 99 real titles
quoted in the article, or it may be the one “of ambigious origin”. “If you can
spot which two they are,” says The Psychologist, “you win an evening
out with the editor. If not, you win two.”

Or you could add to the list, and acquire fame (if not fortune) in this
column.

AN EXAMPLE of unfortunate timing is provided by a paper submitted in April
2000, accepted in January of this year and now published in October’s
Earth-Science Reviews by Michael Brookfield and Ajruddin Hashmat
of Guelph University in Canada.

Regarding the petroleum potential of northern Afghanistan, they write:
“Further studies of the North Afghan platform should be rewarding because: (a)
the traps of strike-slip belts are difficult to find without detailed
exploration; (b) the troubles of the last 20 years mean that almost no
exploration has been done; and (c) conditions may soon become more
ڲdzܰ.”

THE TOP of the mortgage application form from The Yorkshire Building Society
proudly announces: “With you 100 per cent.” Underneath are details of the
maximum mortgage on offer: 95 per cent

FEEDBACK doesn’t have much time to browse the newsgroups on Usenet these
days. Older readers may remember that these anarchic global
arguments—often conducted by people who disguised their
identities—were the epitome of “The Internet” before the Web took off.
They’re named hierarchically by subject: sci for science, then sci.physics. . .
and look, here’s the very deeply specialised “sci.physics.edward.teller.
Ǵdz.Ǵdz.Ǵdz”.

We were sufficiently intrigued by this one to do a bit of searching at
groups.google.com, only to discover that the reason no one’s discussing the
origins of the H-bomb—or anything else—in this group is that it’s a
lingering ghost of someone’s joke and never really existed. Oh, well. That’s
newsgroups for you.

AND continuing the theme of semiopathy —empathy with objects such as
“alarmed doors”—reader Sarah Gribbin tells us that she has been studying
“Biology: Brain and Behaviour” with the Open University. This has meant writing
a lot of essays and taking a lot of exams, so she often finds herself
sympathising with what she finds described as “nervous tissue”.

Kathy Haskard, meanwhile, tells us of the wave of sympathy that washed over
her when she saw a sign on a country road in Tasmania saying: “Warning,
depressed bridge ahead”. Roger Lampert, on the other hand, was perhaps suffering
more from semiophobia when, at an early age, he was deeply distressed by the
sight of the local “family butcher”.

Other readers’ responses to signs are more those of confusion rather than
emotional involvement. Andrew Carter, for example, notes his problem arriving at
a definitive interpretation of a sign near his parents’ house that states,
without hindrances such as punctuation: “Dead slow children playing”.

And Tony Lovatt is surprised that his local supermarket announces unashamedly
that it sells “minute steaks”—though he says that they are indeed very
small.

In the countryside near where Greg Johnson lives, horse stud farms often have
signs at the roadside advertising “stable manure” for sale. He is grateful for
these signs, he says, because he hates to think what might happen if he were to
accidentally purchase some unstable manure—which, presumably, might
explode or run riot round the roses.

Meanwhile, Sandy Henderson tells us that at Dunblane, near where he lives, is
a sign that reads “Hummingbird House Training Centre”. Henderson says he hadn’t
realised that hummingbirds needed house training, but it was very thoughtful of
someone to set up a centre to provide it.

Finally, Simon Rodgers says he came across a set of railings in Cambridge
with a sign that announced: “Bicycles may be removed”. A couple of bikes were
chained up to the railings. As they were clearly being offered for free, Rodgers
regretted not having any bolt cutters with him—he could have saved himself
a walk home.