The Zodiac Columnist

Piecing together epistolary squabbles in The Times requires a rich blend of skill sets, ranging from investigative prowess, methodical cataloguing, and a healthy dose of psychological nous.
For the novice, there are the unending George Cross and internment debates, which will crop up with predicable regularity in the letter pages. The arguments and the people making them are invariably the same, and tracing back the well-rehearsed and badly executed duels is a simple exercise.
As a matter of course, the correspondent will open their missive with the tried and tested: “I refer to the letter by So-and-So (insert date)”. On any given day, up to half or more of the letters in The Times will begin with a variation on that theme – fitting with the paper’s evident calling to become a PO Box sorting house.
Beyond the routine task of fitting together the backward chronological order of the letters, it is also important to make out of the manifold grievances fuelling the anger felt by the respective jousting participants of any letter-writing contest. This can often date back several decades – to before a time when even the parents of most Times readers were born.
On occasion, however, the detective has nothing to work but the standalone text as a means by which to comprehend the inner workings of the epistle-composer’s mind. Like the letters of the Zodiac Killer, every epistle presents its own puzzle and no single link appears to make sense of the larger picture.
Such is the Internet scribbling of Anthony Licari, who teaches psycholinguistics and sociolinguistics (but no longer geolinguistics, it would seem). He is also married to a Russian woman 30 years his junior, one learns with interest, for it puts this choice Licari quote once featured on this blog into some perspective:

"Men of the West seem to be increasingly finding wives and partners in Eastern Europe. No formal scientific study that I know of has attempted to analyse this phenomenon. However, Western newspapers, often for reasons of sensationalism, like to print stories about East European women who have 'tricked' West European men."

So, already we have divined of our subject that he has aspirations to clinical insight, as well as being the erratic moth-bumping-into-light-bulb-minded goon that any regular reader of his column will recognise.
Quite literally, every single word Licari has ever committed to the page can be dismissed as inane gibberish on its own terms, but a recent exchange tantalisingly brings more fascinating strands to his “personality” – startling narcissism and almost childlike sensitivity to even the slightest criticism.
On Nov. 21, one Mario Dingli of Sliema ventured boldly to submit to the following pithy one-lined opinion:

“I am more than certain that columnist Tony Licari (who teaches psycholinguistics and sociolinguistics - very long words indeed) knows that sarcasm is the lowest form of wit.”

Harmless stuff, one would imagine. But as members of the Maltese blog-writing community know all too well, Licari is not one to take even the most passing of barb lying down. In immediate response to the letter, he posted this reply in the comments section (as sure a sign of having too much time on one’s hands as any):

“I have had the pleasure of discussing Mr Dingli's letter with the gentleman himself. I am pleased to say that the conversation was very mature and cordial. We did mention the fact that great writers like Shakespeare, Molière and Voltaire did use sarcasm as part of their writing style without indulging in a low kind of wit. So a negative opinion about sarcasm may not be a general opinion. Mr Dingli and I also mentioned the fact that other columnists in The Times sometimes use sarcasm and that their writing may be pleasant indeed. We tried to understand why I was singled out. This is the only thing that remains unclear in my discussion with Mr Dingli. However this will also be ironed out soon as Mr Dingli has invited me for a drink. Finally I wish to apologise to the world for teaching psycholinguistics and sociolinguistics. Maybe these subjects harm students of linguistics?”

Leaving aside the factual merits of the retort and the fanciful comparison that Licari appears to be drawing between him and the great figures of Western literature, there is the matter of his worrying insistence on confronting his adversaries face to face over drinks and snacks. This author of this blog is not the only one to have been subjected to such advances amid sinister threats of legal action for having had the temerity to question Licari’s lucidity.
As an aside, it should be obvious to anyone that it is by no means the subject matters that Licari inexplicably feels compelled to advertise beneath his articles that are of concern, as much as the teacher himself.
The world hears no more of Dingli for some time – and some perhaps wonder if they ever will again. But lo, on Friday, he writes in again, this time without his now trademark impishness, but with the dispirited air of an apprehended dog-botherer. He opens mournfully:

“I refer to my letter of November 21.”

What follows is recited in the simpering, contrite tones familiar to anyone with a passing knowledge of 1930s Stalinist show trials.

"May I say that I have had a very friendly discussion with Tony Licari regarding the letter. May I also state that when I wrote that "sarcasm is the lowest form of with" I never intended that Dr Licari was "low". If I was understood in this sense, I apologise.
May I also say that I am looking forward to meeting this gentleman when, I am sure, we can have a very good talk together. I am sure there are other columnists and writers who sometimes are sarcastic in their writings and, here again, I am sure that they are not "low".
Regarding the quote itself, I think (I am not sure) that it was Oscar Wilde who coined this phrase. However, I hold myself open to correction.”

Unwilling to let it go there, however, Licari responds with a victory lap of sorts in the comments section, while presumably addressing some apt sniping from Andrew Borg-Cardona further down. If this seems to not make any sense and unfairly taken out of context, only Licari is to blame as the text is presented in full and quite unadulterated:

“Indeed the analysis of writing attempts to find a rapport between the writer and his/her writing. This rapport is often, but not always, discovered in spite of the possibility that a writer does not always wish readers to establish any connection between the person and his/her expression. I wonder, for example, if one may say - and be believed: "My writing is politically obsessed but I am not." Psychoanalysis of writing is one subject that perhaps overemphasises this almost inevitable rapport - which may be subconscious. It is also interesting to observe in some critics a strong obsession to comment patronisingly [thus not sarcastically] on all matters under the sky - if not above it. There is obviously a reason for this phenomenon - perhaps even more than one. I was once amused by an expression used by a letter writer, "zatatism", which is an unkind word - if I suspect correctly the meaning behind it. Finally I tend to disagree with the opinion of some that there is also a rapport between a person's shape and his/her expression.”

And what exactly was the point of this excursion in the nether regions of this peculiar man’s feverish mind?
Well, none at all really. But, and this is said in the weary resignation of a man that knows his words will fall on fallow ground, would The Times please consider barring this fucking nutter from their pages?

Dali M for Murder

Now, many people may dismiss David Casa as little more than crashing dunderhead of negligible importance and mental acuity, but his contribution to keeping our religious heritage at the forefront of our lives is surely second to none.
In this frenetic, modern world that we inhabit, what should be a daily habit of praying tribute to the baby Jesus, our Lord and saviour, and his saintly virgin mother often becomes the first casualty of venal, day-to-day endeavors.
But never fear, it’s Thursday and David Casa is here. This week, he devotes his routine bombastic claim of Maltese greatness to the earth-shattering news that the country has victoriously swept aside EU titans Cyprus and Bulgaria to claim its title as host of something called the European Asylum Support Office.
In characteristic fashion, he doesn’t deign to actually inform the reader of what this nebulous agency might actually do remotely anywhere near the top of the article, but he does indulge in an unseemly gale of verbal high-fives and Jerry Springer-style whooping. Read on and get the rosary beads out:

“Gaining the right to host the EASO comes after months of negotiation, excellent teamwork and coordination between the Ministry of Home Affairs and the Maltese Representation to the European Union in Brussels. The lobbying and the huge effort that every official involved in this project made have given us thisprestigious seat. Hats off to those who made all this happen; these are people who, unlike us politicians, are rarely mentioned and are never in the limelight, but I think that their work and unconditional commitment should be lauded as they are the ones who make Malta stand out and they are the ones without whom we would never dream of being in the position we are now.”

Jesus Christ, Mary, Joseph and all the saints!
It is mystifying that so many people should have written indignant letters to the paper about how unsuspecting youths could have accidentally picked up the small circulation university magazine containing Alex Vella Gera’s sexually explicit story, but that nobody bats an eyelid at this rancid, stomach-turning display of self-love in the country’s most influential newspaper. There are specialist publications for what is going on in this article, and they can usually be found in Hamburg sex shops.
Once the reader has recovered from the bout of dry-heaving over the Corn Flakes, they are at liberty to read on and discover what exactly this EASO does anyway:

“Malta in the centre of the Mediterranean will indeed be the most excellent location to better understand the phenomena that have caused immigration to soar in these last few years. The setting up of this agency will enable us to share ideas and act more quickly and effectively.”

Christ on a bike!
This kind of vapid flimflam sounds like it belongs in a television advert for washing machines and does woefully little to enlighten anybody as to what this thing actually does. It is hard to know whether Casa acts out of a lack of political acumen or some implausible scruples in failing to spell out what this body is actually for, namely (to slightly amend his description): “The setting up of this agency will enable us to share [immigrants] and act more quickly and effectively.”
Anyway, let Simon Busuttil deal with all boring “explaining stuff to people.” Casa has more gushing to do:

“Events and achievements like these are significant for our country. They are steps in the right direction, towards achieving the goal of a Europe that is equal but diverse, a Europe where the standard of living is the same throughout, where the conditions of work offer our workforce peace of mind; a Europe that is greener and, thus, the air is cleaner than it is now and, at the same time, a Europe that does not lose its traditional roots even at national level; a Europe that will still keep the same values that our forefathers fought for, the traditions that each single town or village has and the dialect that even the citizens of the smallest hamlet speak. It took 500 years of war and bloodbaths to have the Union we have now.”

Holy Mary, mother of God!
It is purely an accident of fate that Casa was born when and where he was, because it is frightening to think what would have happened if he had fallen under the spell of American cult leader Jim Jones. The image of him stampeding towards a big jug of Kool-Aid springs to mind.
“A Europe that is equal but diverse?” Equal to what, exactly?
“A Europe that is greener and, thus, the air is cleaner than it is now?” Jesus H. Christ.
“It took 500 years of war and bloodbaths to have the Union we have now?” Please God, make it stop.
Bored with this thoroughly inconsequential political onanism, he then turned his sights to voluptuous proposition of John Dalli (or Dali, as he misspells it on first reference, failing even to get his sickening sycophancy right).

“I again congratulate him and give him my word I won't be too tough during his grilling session at the European Parliament!”

Again, Jesus Christ! Grilling? A spit roast seems more likely.