Most-read Wikipedia articles: French holly, Vietnamese sex positions and Japanese pornstars

A glimpse into national psyches.

Via Chris Applegate on Twitter, here's a list of the most viewed articles on each of the 35 most active versions of Wikipedia in 2012.

It's a curious collection of pieces: some boring, some weird, and most just vain. Let's look at the fun stuff first.

The weird

Japanese: AV女優一覧, a list of lists of "adult video" actresses. No English language version of this one, despite my, ahem, exhaustive research. I particularly like that it's not even a list of porn actresses; it's a list of lists of porn actresses.

Vietnamese: Danh sách tư thế quan hệ tình dục/Sex position. Because how else will you learn about sex positions?

German: Sackgasse/Cul-de-sac. I don't know why cul-de-sacs are such a source of curiosity for German-speakers. But they are.

French: Houx crénelé/Ilex crenata. French-speakers apparently care deeply about an ornamental species of holly native to east Asia.

The boring

Some countries use Wikipedia to look up normal boring things. How unimaginative of them.

Croatian: Zakon o sprječavanju internetskog piratstva/Stop Online Piracy Act

Slovak: Majstrovstvá sveta v ľadovom hokeji 2012/2012 IIHF World Championship

Czech: Seznam historických výročí/List of historical anniversaries

Danish: Te/Tea

Norwegian: Schrøder, an article about the Norwegian surname

Dutch: Hua Shan/Mount Hua

Turkish: Mustafa Kemal Atatürk/Mustafa Kemal Atatürk

Thai: สมาคมประชาชาติแห่งเอเชียตะวันออกเฉียงใต้/Association of Southeast Asian Nations

Italian: Grey's Anatomy/Grey's Anatomy

Catalan: Mario Conde, a Spanish banker.

Hungarian: Magyar névnapok betűrendben, a list of Hungarian "name days".

Tech companies seem to be especially popular, and one in particular:

Chinese: 百度/Baidu

Korean: 네이버/Naver

Indonesian: Facebook/Facebook

Spanish: Facebook/Facebook

English: Facebook

The vain

Do you know what Wikipedians really like to do? Look up their own country:

Slovene: Slovenija/Slovenia

Estonian: Eesti/Estonia

Lithuanian: Lietuva/Lithuania

Greek: Ελλάδα/Greece

Hebrew: ישראל/Israel

Romanian: România/Romania

Finnish: Suomi/Finland

Swedish: Sverige/Sweden

Polish: Polska/Poland

Russian: Россия/Russia

Bulgarian: България/Bulgaria

Ukrainian: Україна/Ukraine

And a couple of not-quite entries:

Portugese: Brasil/Brazil

Persian: تهران/Tehran

Arabic: مصر/Egypt

Photograph: Getty Images

Alex Hern is a technology reporter for the Guardian. He was formerly staff writer at the New Statesman. You should follow Alex on Twitter.

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Why I refuse to complain about email spam

The bleaker things get, the easier it is to be annoyed about absolutely everything.

“I need just one night and your cock
I want to give you a [sic] head Nice [sic] ginger hair and big bubbly boobs”

It reads like poetry. Poetry by an early 00s DVD player that has recently mastered the English language and doesn’t know what to do with it. A DVD player that’s lying on a skip and has a discarded Cornetto sitting atop its plastic exoskeleton like a depressing party hat, sluggishly oozing ice cream into all its crevices. Yes. If a broken and abandoned DVD player were to start writing poems, they’d probably look a bit like that stunningly naïve and post-post-modern cock and bubbly boobs mess.

Innermost contemplations of an obsolete piece of technology or not, these lines of poetry recently appeared in my email junk folder. Subject line: “Sex right now.” Sender: “Teresa Hughes”.

The bleaker things get (economically, politically, socially) the easier it is to complain about absolutely everything. Knowing that I’ll probably spend the rest of my life either living with my parents or renting shitholes from miserly Dickensian landlords makes selfie sticks all the more annoying. And slow walkers. And rugby fans. And people who stand on street corners, shouting about Jesus and doom. All of these things, within the context of generalised rubbishness, are worthy of a billion pissed off tweets.

Spam, on the other hand, the bugbear of the privileged but stressed since about 1996, is one of the increasingly few things about which I refuse to complain. Reason being: spam, the porny kind in particular, has always been there for me… in a way.  

I can’t remember my first email address. Knowing prepubescent me, it was probably a) boringly weird and b) just a fucking abomination. Something like What I can remember though is being emailed about blowjobs way before I knew what they were. Which was, in a sense, educational.

Over the past few days, my junk folder has been inundated by requests from robots who want to do stuff to my penis. This is my first incursion of porn spam in a long while; years, possibly. And I’m finding it almost impossible to be annoyed or disgusted by it. Instead, I’ve been getting nostalgic. Nostalgic for a simpler digital time. A time in which connecting to the internet made a sound like an android with norovirus, and people were trusting enough to click on links in emails with subject lines like, “Mega-PU$$Y 4 U!!!!”.

I like to imagine that, over the next century, great leaders will come and go; empires will rise and fall; bootcut jeans will have moments of fashionableness roughly every fifteen years; and, all the while, people like “Teresa Hughes” will email us reminders that they would dearly like to suck us off, in exchange for a hard drive-melting virus.

Plus, I was only being a little bit facetious about that “poem” thing. When I did an art history elective at uni, a lot of it was spent gazing at pictures of Marcel Duchamp’s “Fountain” (that urinal that’s art) and wondering what art actually is. Can a urinal be art? Can Danny Dyer be art? And, most pressingly, can spam be art? In one word: sure.

Let’s return our attention to those lines of spam at the beginning of the piece. I shall now attempt to apply GCSE-level analysis to Sex Now by “Teresa Hughes” (the lesser-known offspring of Ted and Sylvia, presumably).

The speaker, a woman, in a grab for immediate attention, addresses the reader directly. The line break after “cock” places emphasis on that word, reassuring the reader just how much she “needs” his/her penis. The unusual phrasing in the next line, “a head”, rather than “head”, for example, is a play on words that neatly juxtaposes [seriously, how much did you use the word “juxtapose” in GCSE English essays?] the primal act of giving head with the intellectual act of having one (and using it).  The alliteration in “big bubbly boobs” highlights the exact largeness and roundness pertaining to the speaker’s breasts. Furthermore, she wants us to know that her horniness transcends grammar.

Even furthermore, spam is literature and the world would be a darker place without it. So don’t be a great honking philistine and complain about it.

Eleanor Margolis is a freelance journalist, whose "Lez Miserable" column appears weekly on the New Statesman website.