Nixon, Toothpaste, and Sodomy

Many years ago (well, a couple years ago anyhow), I was with A. looking at a program for an academic conference.  And there was this panel with three papers that had no discernable connection.  So A. says, "It's like having a panel titled, I don't know, 'Nixon, Toothpaste, and Sodomy."  The point being, of course, that these three things just don't fit.  And so, in my mind, a miscellaneous, seemingly-random collection of thoughts has, ever since, been "Nixon, toothpaste, and sodomy."  And really, as a deconstructionist, A. should appreciate the suggestion that by placing these three together, maybe he's suggesting that they do somehow fit together.  And as a Freudian, A. might be able to give us insight into the possible, non-conscious connection between three seemingly- random nouns.  And now that I write this, I'm missing A. and realize that I should e-mail him.  I'll leave it to the rest of you, or at least to Cara, to deduce who A. is based on these clues.

And "clues" is my transition to the next thought in this series.  I may have posted about this before--I don't know.  I have decided that my all-time favorite etymology is that of the word "clue."  And as I've been reading and teaching all these great, quaint, classic, cozy murder mysteries, it's been particularly on my mind.  "Clue," originally spelled "clew" is the word for a ball of yarn:  think old ladies knitting while kittens bat around the yarn.  And when Theseus entered the labyrinth to battle the Minotaur, Ariadne gave him a clew of yarn to find his way back out.  You know, it's almost like Hansel and Gretel leaving crumbs in the wood.  Theseus is to leave the yarn at the beginning of the labyrinth and to thread it out as he moves along, so that once the minotaur is faced, he can follow the thread back to the beginning.  And, according to the OED, the universal source of all linguistic knowledge, this is the sense from which our use of "clue" develops.  The notion is that the detective, or anyone really, can pick up a single thread of a narrative and follow that thread through to the logical conclusion.  And as I read, I keep picturing the characters (this is especially appropriate for Miss Marple) following threads of conversations and incidents back to the murderer.  In The Murder of Roger Ackroyd, the narrator describes an encounter with Poirot: "He and I lunched together at an hotel.  I know now that the whole thing lay clearly unravelled before him.  He had got the last thread he needed to lead him to the truth."  And again, it's the image of unrolling that ball of yarn and following the thread out of the puzzle.  This image absolutely fascinates me.

And finally, third in my series of three seemingly-random things:  I have announcement to make.  In the near future, if all goes according to plan you will be able to find me here on the net.  More to come!