Scum of Bhavata

I shall pass over my initial intent of describing the sea, the hills, and the star on the Flashlight hike on Saturday and go straight to the thing that has most bugged me and made me angry all day. I heard on NPR about Indian marriage scam artists (particularly Punjabis). This is the way it works. Those sexy (=rich, at least by provincial standards) Indians who work abroad (known hereinafter as non-resident Indians, or NRIs) place an ad for a bride. They demand a dowry, often one higher than the bride's family can reasonably afford, and then disappear. There are variants of this, including additional shakedowns and trapping the wife in a culture where she does not speak the language, but I have described the basic outline.

What angers me is not the practice of the dowry, nor the arranged marriage, but the habit of demanding an outlay greater than the bride's family can afford. I can understand the richer of the two families displaying their wealth, but making the poorer of the two poorer still stinks of malice. Of course, the Hindu system of castes seems to share that mindset. It's an aristocratic one - the Greek word 'kalos' means both 'good' and 'beautiful'. The one consolation, I suppose, is that these jilted brides do not seem to be blamed for their misfortune, nor are they branded of questionable morals, as I fear many rigid Western Christian societies would.

Aquae Veneris

I went to

A Thursday In Late November

What a strange world I live in! This Thursday I went over to Berkeley. Bruce had asked me to reformat a list of Eagle Court speakers, so I had my laptop with me. I set to, but soon discovered to my dismay that the list did not start at 1990, as I had supposed, but in 1984! I noticed a strong pattern of two relatives presenting the Oath and Charge - in one case, there were three brothers sharing one of the presentations! I did some Christmas shopping with Amy - super-bargain-hunting, of course - and then we took a pleasant walk across the Berkeley campus.

I attended a panel at the Commonwealth Club on the issue of privacy in modern society, especially online, a topic on which Amy had expressed no interest. But then, my parents have quite different interests. The panel included representatives of civil liberties, law enforcement, Google, and Facebook. The anecdotes and concerns ran the gamut, from the stupidity of the self-incriminating to the surprisingly nuanced definition of privacy among social network users.

Then Amy returned. We the Geary, which is indeed "dirty-eight" - I was glad that Amy did have to endure the sight of some of the undesirable elements. Such disdain and distrust may arise not so much from elitism as from the male's urge to protect his woman (a natural feeling, even if it appears sexist in this age). We went to a Chinese bible study on Euclid. The park there looks so decievingly flat on Google Maps! The Bible study seemed fairly mellow, but we were at a disadvantage because they were using a book and were halfway through it. I was the only "English" there.

USS Hornet Trip

So last weekend, I went on a trip with the Troop on the USS Hornet, the ship which picked up the Apollo 11 astronauts. I came over to Alameda, where the ship was berthed, with carload of Scouts and one other adult, and I shall say this even if it makes me appear old: when I was going on Scout trips as a Scout, Before we could even board (although it must said that we were slightly behind our own schedule, and the military schedule of the Hornet is unforgiving), the fire drill started. The crew presentation seemed to our boys (and I agree with their impressions) aimed squarely and exclusively at the Cub Scouts, although on this occasion there werre Boy Scouts and Girl Scouts as well. Our troop contingent bunked in the chief petty officers' quarters, on port side below the enlisted crewman's quarters. Dinner was regimented, but it was not possible for such a large group as ours was to sit together. The unhappy result was that one kid was left behind (briefly) at the mess.

The evening program consisted of self-guided tours of various areas of the ship, including navigation and the engine room. Each tour group, of course, had to include one adult to keep on eye on the boys (and in one case, girls) The flight deck was off-limits except to a few guided groups. The interior of the ship, at least those portions which were open, was a little disorienting, but then I do not have the best sense of direction and prefer to go back exactly the way I arrived. I would have preferred to spend more time in navigation and engineering, but i had to keep an eye on certain roustabouts. I and my group finally got to the flight deck tour. That was cool! I'm afraid the language of boyhood enthusiasm is the only one in which my feelings about the flight deck can find expression.

I was supposed to do the 5-7 watch, but the adults who were doing the 3-5 watch were so enthusiastic that they stayed unitl 6 and then decided to fill the remaining time themselves.

The Weekend

After a rather dull Friday, more notable for my contemplation of the Great San Francisco Bay Oil Spill rather than any particular work I accomplished. Mom and I went to ACT to see The Rainmaker, of which I had a vague memories due to a hazily remembered movie verison of the broadway version of the play. The performance was wonderful and piercing, ddep thoughts expressed in vivid language.



On Saturday, I had the first half of Scouting for Food, in which the Scouts hang the bags on the doors. This year, however, the bags had been replaced by door hangers in an attempt to reduce litter. The sky was beginning to cloud over. The cubs, a chief component of this outing, arrived late, and too few of our own were in attendance. I would have preferred to go with one of the Scout groups rather than sitting at Broadway and Lyon, but I accepted my role.



After the Closing Circle, I returned to Maple Street and Mom and I rushed over to Berkeley to see the CCA (California Classical Association) performance of Argonautika written by Mary Zimmerman. I found it remarkable how different yet equally true interpretations of a character such as Jason could be. There were occassional moments of pretentiousness. Theorizing in drama should be in character, and I found the zodiacal interpretation awkwardly presented. It also occurred to me that the figure of St Christopher may have more to do with Jason bearing Hera than the grim chthonic ferryman Charon.


Once the curtain had fallen, the rain had increased greatly. I went over to Another Change of Hobbit and picked up the copy of Donaldson's Fatal Revenant. Then I read it as I awaited the return of my beautiful Amy, for I had foolishly left my key in San Francisco. Initially, my plan was to got a certain restaurant along Shattuck, but Amy persuaded that she was tired and that I ought to get some food to eat in. So trudged through the rain and acquired the comestibles. She returned and we had dinner together.



This Sunday, Rod Dugliss spoke at St James on the state and office of the diaconate, to which I remember his appointment, Later, there was a sale of goods and trinkets to benefit Palestinian Christians, and I attended the last Via Media discussion, which was on mission (although not quite what Amy would mean by 'mission'). When I went to Kaju for coffee, Seiko was harried and Lindsey Berkovich was there with her husband.

A Berkeley Weekend

Saturday, I went over to Berkeley for two reasons: to help Zhang Han (aka Ashley) with her memorizing of botanical terms and to discover whether a Little Change of Hobbit had copies of Naomi Kritzer's latest and Donaldson's Fatal Revenant (the latest in the Chronicles of Thomas Covenant). Since the appointment with Ashley was not entirely expected, I had to lug my reference books with me as well as my laptop. A parade in Chinatown thwarted my journey on the 1 California, and I temporarily thought I had lost my bus pass. I walked down to the BART station, and later found my bus pass.

When I got to Berkeley, I met with Ashley at the McDonald's on Shattuck and University. It is always difficult to explain the case and gender endings to an English-speaker, and more so to a Chinese-speaker. I visited A Little Change of Hobbit and somehow failed to forget the title of the books as I entered, as I have done consistently previously. My budget and temporary dearth of a credit card, however, prevented me from acquiring the book immediately.

Then I went to Amy's apartment and worked on prepping Chapter 6 for Ashley and ate Amy's delicious tangerines. I cooked dumplings and had dinner with Amy.


On Sunday, I returned to Berkeley, but first I evacuated Puff, whom I had been dog-sitting, and attended the service at St James. The attendance was scant because many people were at the parish retreat. Mother Mary Moore was likewise absent, although she had left because her sister in Virginia had died.

I returned to Berkeley with my laptop and headed to Amy's apartment. I recovered some of my lost sleep from yesterday's long adventure by taking a nap on Amy's bed. I still, however, had plenty of time to use my laptop for various catchups. When Amy returned from worship practice, we ended up taking Alberta for a bath. We also went to dinner with Kao Chi (aka Lydia) and Wang Beibei (sp?), a visiting scholar from China. We ate at the 168 Restaurant, which serves Taiwanese cuisine.

Gamophilia

It seems all my acquaintances, regardless of age, are committing matrimony. I could understand it if it clustered around an age group or religious affiliation or political affiliation, but I see no pattern.

Med Cruise: Sept 23

I'm sorry, Amy, the lockstep of the tour group prohibited me from going to church. We left the Le Meridien Phoenician Hotel where we were lodged, and passed under the pseudo-medieval gate into the town of Valletta, after which my great-grandmother was named by her civil service father. The goal this Sunday was not to see the town comprehensively, but rather to visit the Museum of Archaeology in order to better appreciate the megalithic ruins, we would visit later today and to see the originals housed here as a safeguard from the elements. These included the Venus of Malta, the Sleeping Lady, and the gargantuan base of the Fat Lady. One site to which we would not travel was the Ghar Dalam cave where the first immigrants to Malta settled. before the rise of the Pharaohs; the settlers came from Sicily.







After we returned to the hotel, we boarded a bus. We left Valletta for Floriana, and learned firsthand the seamless transition from one Maltese town to the next; our guides assured us strong village dialects nonetheless exist. Floriana yield to Marsa, whose common root with Marsala in Sicily and Marseilles in France is the Semitic word for harbor (a concept unfamiliar to the desert-dwelling Hebrews). The bus drove us through the three cities on the far side of the Grand Harbour; these cities were the center of habitation near the Grand Harbour prior to the arrival of the Knights of Malta: Cospicua, Senglea, and Vittoriosa. At Vittoriosa, the least industrially-uglified of the three cities, I discovered that my camera lacked a memory chip!







We travelled through Fgura and into Tarxien with few signs of intercivic transition. The Tarxien Temples, found originally under a field of a farmer, are now surrounded by urban development. The Temple forms a complex in the approximate shape of a fat lady. Most of the interesting items had been replaced by copies outside, and the copies were in bad shape. The bus then took us through the recent development of Santa Lucija. Around Kirkao, we passed the airport and entered an area full of quarries - the nearby gardens were all former quarrries infilled with rubbish and topsoil.



Then, after passing through Zurrieq, we reached the site of the Hagar Qim Prehistoric Temples (although the precise number is impossible to verify) whose age was even greater than that of Tarxien and whose size was even more massive. The proximity of the sea provided a welcome breeze, but there was only one tree in the entire complex. The largest store was twenty tons (tonnes?). Both sites included 'libation holes', rope holes to fasten doors, and 'oracles holes' through which the priests might have spoken but I also have found that tour guides seek a certainty about the past which archaeologists are unable to provide. a fifteen-minute walk from Hagar Qim would have brought us to the Mnejdra Temple Complex.





We travelled to Mdina, the pre-Knights of Malta capital of the island which had already suffered defensive partition under the Arabs for lunch at the Bacchus restaurant enclosed on one side by a Roman, on the other by a medieval wall. Its initial purpose, however, was munitions storage. Then we walked through the streets of Mdina, the Silent City (so called because so few people live in it) smothered in convents and monasteries - the Maltese are very religious, especially for godless Europeans - and the palaces of noble families with the scions of at least one I quarreled at Downside. The Cathedral of Mdina was spectacular and all the marble of the tombs was inlaid, not painted, and the painting behind the altar was applied directly to Malta's indigenous ubiquitous stone. Naturally, none of the other members of the group seemed to see the cathedral as a holy place rather than inert stone. From Mdina's walls we could see an arc of the island stretching from Valletta to St Paul's Bay, where lie the island on which St Paul was wrecked, according to local tradition. The exact site is unknown, but local traditions always require some spot to be chosen as the official site, or rather, more than one location decides it is the official site and argues with other locations.



For dinner, I went into Valletta for the Maltese equivalent of tapas. The streets were well-lit and crowded (and the petite Maltese girls rather attractive although I'm far too Protestant for them). The flowers were still abundant from the celebration of Independence Day on Friday.

Med Cruise: Sept. 22

Sept. 22 -
I prefer not to dwell on the plane flights, but I do wonder about Gen. 1:29-30 whether the point is not so much that everything was vegetarian as much as that God created all nourishment.

Saturday Road Trip

Today, after a rough start and much discussion, Mom, Dad, and I decided to take a road trip up to Sierraville and places beyond. So we drove to Truckee and across the overpass - I’m against overpasses in principle because they kill the economies of small towns, but in the case of Truckee, that’s not a problem - and continued north.

When we reached Sierraville, a small town once prospering from the cattle industry and now dying, the diners and the Moonie-owned hotel were still in business. The guy from old Hacienda del Lago had in fact moved to Sierraville and started a Mexican restaurant upstairs from the old café. That, however, was not where we ate, but rather we crossed the street to a different café, Crossroads Café, which served the best onion rings I have ever consumed - and I don’t normally eat onion rings! The one depressing thing we learned was that the Sierraville Rodeo was no more, since the sponsors and organizers, who were always the same, had grown weary of the flashier Truckee Rodeo’s sapping of sponsorship. I enjoyed the more true to its roots rodeo!

While visiting the bathroom, we discovered that there was a store in the back of the building. We bought a few presents, and then we hit a bonanza. Dad spotted a rack of doggie treats and bought a “chew hoof” for Puff the American Eskimo. He’s still chewing it as I write this.

Then Dad led us on a tour of regional golf courses, including one at which some of his friends had bought a house recently. On the return trip, we turned in to Hobart Mills, and were surprised immensely to see that the area was being developed. We went down the remnants of old Highway 89, which was incredibly rutted and in disrepair, and hit Prosser Lake. On the way back, ever so slowly, we came across the Emigrant Trail, where we stopped to step in the tracks of pioneers and their wagons.

Touring Newfoundland: Part III

In the morning, we went to Cape Spear, the easternmost point of North America. In order to get there, we had to cross to the Southside of St John's, where the shipyards are, and ascend a hill in the dense fog. We passed the small community of Blackhead, with its one-room schoolhouse, and reached the head of the cape. In addition to the fog, there was a lot of wind. Mom took a picture of me, but then the camera gave out.

Next we went back through St John's up to Cabot Tower on the northern heights of St John's harbor. Here Marconi recieved the first transatlantic wireless message.The fog was so dense that Mom remained in the car while I looked over the site.

After we had descended gingerly and slowly, mowing down no hikers, we headed out of town past a grim industrial "park" called Logy Bay. We soon reached the more scenic outport of Outer Cove, which contended in the St John's Regatta with the men of Bay Bulls. The scenery held up through Middle Cove, and Torbay was also attractive. The outport of Flat Rock had a shrine modeled on Lourdes, a memento of John Paul II's visit to Newfoundland.

We went through at Pouch (pron. 'pooch') Bay. We didn't go berry-picking in Biscayan Cove, although it is known for that.

Evidence of building was rife throughout the ridge between Pouch Cove and Bauline, which lies on Conception Bay, down a steep and winding track, studded with pines.

We lunched at Portugal Cove, looking out at the ferry to Bell Island and the island itself. Bell Island features the longest submarine (=underwater) mines which extend for miles under the ocean. There are also some German subs sunk in WWII.

The drive from Portugal Cove to Holyrood was almost entirely suburban, but Mom did notice the lumpy misshapen bulk of the Butter Pot. Holyrood, at the head of Conception Bay, provided slightly askew of straight view of the bay. We did not return via the TransCanada Highway. but took the road to Witless Bay and Bay Bulls. The route was littered with RV parks and repurposed schoolbuses and more (fishing?) huts.

Touring Newfoundland: Part II

The next day we took to the road. We went south, past the outport of Bay Bulls to Witless Bay. There we had tea at the recommendation of Vernon, one of the fellow conference attendees. Gull Island was visible from the balcony of the Witless Bay cafe. It was rather chilly outside.

We continued south to Ferryland (which has nothing to do with fairies, Faery, or ferries - English Ferryland came from Portuguese Farilham from French Farillon, akin to California's Farallones). There we first came upon the RC church, currently under repair, and viewed the jagged, treacherous rocks on the north side of the cove. Isle au Bois was free of tree, but presumable made that way by man. Further south, there were several other islands, and to the south of all, the Downs, a massive headland extended from a narrow isthmus. On the north (leeward) side of the Downs, a small cluster of buildings huddled around a harbor, called the Pool.

The church was of much more recent provenance, but the two workman assented (with thick brogues) to let us survey their handiwork. I'd never seen so many statues of saints!

We found the Visitor Center for the Colony of Avalon, the archeological site and original settlement on the lee of the Downs. Our guide was a local young woman named Andrea, who admitted that today was unseasonably cold. We crossed the isthmus onto the Downs. The archeological site was still surrounded by the houses of locals, who, rather surprisingly, were cooperating with the archaeologists. The first Lord Baltimore had founded Avalon (from the Avalon Peninsula derives its name) as a utopian colony comprised of both Protestants and Catholics, with freedom of worship. The site on the lee of the Downs protected it from the worst of the Atlantic winds; there was only one (southern) safe passage into the harbor, and another into the Pool; the isthmus could be blockaded effectively. The admixture of the two sects didn't work. Baltimore's colony was hijacked by David Kirke, sparking a series of lawsuits which extended to the next generation; the second Lord Baltimore prefered his colony of Maryland, but never relinquished his claim on Avalon (look on the Maryland state seal). On a more prosaic note, the colony featured the first working lavaratory, which was tidally powered.

We passed Renews, where the Pilgrims landed to restock. It is striking that the standard histories omit this, prefering to perpetuate the falsehood that the Pilgrims went straight to Plymouth Rock. Renews was also the home of a local Newfoundland hero, who swam twenty-seven times to a wreck, rescuing one person each time.

The road around Chance Cove towards Portugal Cove South (Portugual Cove is north-west) of St John's curved west through barren, boggy landscapes. There were, however, several huts in the midst of this wilderness. There is a track from Portugal Cove South to the ship-wrecking Cape Race and Mistaken Point Ecological Reserve, wherein lie the oldest fossils of North America.

Once we reached Biscay Bay (a town), we had lunch, looking south across the Atlantic, and then moved on to Trepassey. Trepassey's name comes from the use of "tre'passe'" by French fishermen to describe the departed. We climbed up to Trepassey Battery, built by the English. We continued through somewhat hillier country to Peters River (the town, St Stephen's and St Vincent's, where many whale-watching tours depart. The most striking feature of the region, however, is Holyrood Pond. 'Pond' in this dialect means a freshwater lake, but Holyrood Pond is so grand and extended so far into the bulk of the Avalon Peninsula that the town of Path End, which is on it, is the only inland fishing port (although Path End is connected to the outport of St Mary's.

After we had passed through St Mary's, we went north towards St Catherine's and Salmonier. We crossed the forested interion between Salmonier and Hawke Hill Archaeological Reserve, traversed the Butter Pot Barrens, and returned to St John's via Mount Pearl, "the city within a park".

Touring Newfoundland: Part I

I keep forgetting my notes, so I'll do it from memory. The first day of touring (after the conference, where my sparkling wit was absent from the podium) saw Mom and I going to see the puffins in the afternoon. In the morning, we walked around St John's, along the aptly named 'jellybean row' composed of houses, each a different color, and yet not provoking the apocalypse which neighborhood committees so fear. The close packing of the churches was conspicuous, and the names of the two cathedals (Anglican and RC) seemed a sign of silent provocation.

In the afternoon, we boarded a van with several other remnants of the conference and their significant others and headed south to the town of Bay Bulls. This was the first Mom and I had left the confines of St John's. At Bay Bulls, we embarked. Our guide ws Deirdre, a local young woman. We rounded the southern cape, because the destination was directly in front of Witless Bay, the next cove to the south, which possessed its own outport (which means "not St John's" in the Newfoundland dialect). Someone had seen whales off St John's the week before, but these were probably the first of the season.

We arrived at Gull Island, where the puffins resided, rather swiftly. There was no stench, despite the densely packed birds and the puffins' habit of reinforcing their burrows with their own excrement. The puffins were ungainly in flight, but masters of diving, even compared to the other birds in the island. The herring gulls knew the fishing superiority of the puffins, and therefore waited outside puffin burrows to steal the catch. A different species of gull specialized in consuming puffins mid-air; each of these gulls ate six puffins a day. A third species of gull, the kittiwakes, preferred the small ledges of the island to raise their young; even though the kittiwake egg was shaped to guard against calamity, the mothers hatched up to six per season - which raises some doubt about the evolutionary efficacy of egg shape.

Newfoundland

The coast of Newfoundland is rocky and wind-whipped, free of the scent of decaying vegetation. The outports hug the coast, like barnacles. The interior of the Avalon Peninsula is boggy, with thin soil and shallow "ponds", the local name for lakes. The people of the outports are Irish and very Catholic, only recently risen out of a subsistence lifestyle. These "baymen" are opposed to the "townies" of St John's, which is the closest thing to a metropolis on the Island. The Protestants moved to ST John's as it grew, abandoning the outports to their Irish fishermen (almost in peonage until confederation with Canada).

Spiderman 3

I finally saw Spiderman 3 this Sunday. It wasn't as good as I had hoped; neither was it as bad as I had feared. Some of the combination of humor and angst was ill-handled and ill-matched, but I am not at all convinced that that dissonance isn't appropriate for Spiderman. The movie did suffer from the common affliction of the third installation of a trilogy (both visual and written), where the complexity obscures the purity of the narrative. The biggest surprise for me was that a certain new character did not perish, nor did that character's counterpart. I've never been a big fan of the Sandman, however.

Cache Canyon Troop 14 Whitewater

I went whitewater rafting with Troop 14 this weekend. I ended up paired with Bruce, the boss man. There were fourteen Scouts and six adults - it was even numbers or no going. The first day was my very first day doing whitewater, even though I had canoed, kayaking, and sailed many times before. Each river vessel requires its own techniques, and rafts are no exception. Unlike canoes, however, rafts bounce off rocks. I found the first half of the first day extremely stressful with a precipitous learning curve; later, however, I relaxed a bit. In the evening, Rick, who runs Cache Canyon whitewater trips, put on games and a slideshow. On the second day, I enjoyed myself immensely. The second day featured rapids that required scouting (not Scouting). The two of our boys who were doing Whitewater Merit Badge (Rick, in addition to being an Eagle Scout, is a merit badge counselor) passed.

Good Turn 2007

Friday night, I got a call from Bruce about the Troop's weekend 'The Good Turn'. Ordinarily, we would go up to our summer camp for the whole weekend and make repairs; the weather, however, was prophesied to be so severe that he had decided the Troop would go up for the day. So we did. The overcast sky provided a cool environment, muting all colors. As yet it was not drizzling. Then at eleven it started. Everybody worked at something; some dug post-holes and put up signs for the nature trail; others fit the boards to the metal frames of the non-wood platforms; yet others repaired the the cabins in Pioneers, where the Troop stays in summertime. Our customary coordinator for this venture, Chuck, had injured himself severely in recent months, but his absence was noticeable. Although it was only a day, an impressive amount of work was accomplished, and, most importantly, the ranger had a better attitude towards the troops who participated.

Boondocks

Last night, which was Thursday, I went to the JCC to hear Aaron McGruder in dialogue with Jeff Chang. Every seat was sold, altough not all were occupied. I sat near one of the JCC preschool teachers (married to a non-Jew) who grew up in San Francisco and learned to swim in the old JCC pool. Perhaps Ruth knows her? McGruder seemed quite pleasant, but he did not delve too deeply into politics and eschewed invective.

Khristos Anesti secundum Marcum

I realize the absurdity of posting twice in such a short period of time, but there are some thoughts which would be expressed too late, were I to delay their expression further. It is true that I did not attend a Good Friday service, but by this omission I mean no disrespect. For many years, dwelling on the service of Good Friday struck me as morbid, whether that of devout Catholics or dour Scottish Calvinists. I was made to understand, however, that this apparent morbidity, when applied in moderation, was an attempt to incorporate into the person of the individual believer that anguish which Luther felt all too keenly.

I still prefer the emphasis on the resurrection, however, for Christ was not the only one who died for the sins of others (for many luckless animals without blemish had done that for lesser numbers 0f individuals) but rather the only one who came to life again for the sins of others.

Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Heady Days

The last three days have seen much intellectual ferment, and I should put my thoughts to the pixels ere the hot winds of change wipe away the notes on my tabula erasura.

On Wednesday, I attended the SFSU Classical Students Association lecture, the last of the season, at which the topic was 'Religious War in the Ancient World'. Although it was argued that western monotheism allowed the full flowering of religious war, there are certain counterexamples of Buddhist kings no less military and missionary. Sadly, the lecturer omitted for reason of time, a comment on my beloved Donatists.

On Thursday, I went with Joan and Joe Sutton to Stanford that I might hear Patrick Hunt, vir illustris of the archeological world, speak on his expedition to the Alps and his seeking of the pass by which Hannibal, with his men and elephants, crossed the mountains. Hunt suggested that the choice of such an unfavorable route was not only plausible, but likely, for a member of Hannibal's lineage. Hannibal's god was Baal, a god of heights and storms; where better for the general to seek his god's protection than the place where he would choose to dwell?

On Friday, I joined Joan again unexpectedly for the reading of the 'phad' at the Asian Art Museum. The museum not only had borrowed a display of the art of the state of Mewar in Rajasthan, India, but it had also brought a bhopa and bhopi, indigenous storytellers specializing the reading of the phad, a painting and portable temple which aids the bhopa and bhopi in telling the stories of the local god Pabuji and the much more renowned Ramayana. For those who care to know, the bhopa and bhopi will be performing at 2:30 at the museum through the 15th. I strongly encourage those who can to go.

The Purimspieler

One of the advantage of a shorter winter work week and setting your own hours is that you can go to events during the day you might otherwise miss. So today I went to the JCC to see the Purimspieler, a 'classic Yiddish film'. The room was full of elderly Russians, and the presenter was speaking in Russian. I was pleased to note that my Russian aural comprehension, although spotty, had not vanished entirely. The film itself was in Yiddish with English subtitles. My rudimentary German allowed me to understand portions of the original dialogue.

Borderlands and Amazons

I finally made it to Borderlands, the science fiction and fantasy store on Valencia. As usual, it is invisible while walking down from 18th, although that seems appropriate for a bookstore of its kind. Ripley, the hairless Abyssinian, the confluence of tradition and practicality in bookstore animals, was at home, and I decided not to buy a post card of that peculiar cat. I bought a copy of Naomi Kritzer's third book in her trilogy. I had been meaning to buy Freedom's Sisters since June, since I had promised I would. My biggest thrill is that Kritzer makes Alexander imprison Zeus (if any mortal would, Alexander would).

I've been reading a book on the history of the state of Israel. It's very complicated.

Yale, Yale, Yale

I don't think I'll do this on a regular basis, but I'll forget the details if I don't post now. I'll just have to post the investigation into Trinidadian Benedictine identity theft. After a day in the quiet confines of the Mechanics Institute Library, where I finished reading the Canaanite mythological corpus so that I could return the book on Wednesday, I mounted the hill to the University Club via Powell. I was temporarily is blocked by the incessant crimson of the cable cars. Then I arrived at the University Club, where there was to be a Yale group singing - without a brawl. It turns out that one of the female members of Red, Hot, and Blue, was the friend of Andrew, who is a fellow CSB alum. The only girl in jeans there was a friend of Andrew's friend; she had gone to a familiar local school on the other side of the bay.

The 300

I finally saw the 300. I loved it. It was what a movie about a glorious last stand should feel like. I can forgive the abundant free license in the source material (courtesy of Frank Miller) if it encourages the appropriate katharsis. The one thing, however, which does worry me, is the vivd racial distinction in the film. Since the graphic novel from which the images were taken was intended to invoke the black, white, and red of Greek pottery, in that format it is logical. The portrayal of Xerxes as the big black menace, howver, is more provocative in a movie than a graphic novel.

Palace of Legion of Honor

Today I went to the Palace of the Legion of Honor. I don't like the cabbageware in the ceramics room; I prefer two-tone patterns when I think about such things at all. The multicolored ones offend me greatly. I also visited the dark little room next to the cafeteria, in which There was an exhibit of paintings inspired by a rambling country preacher. The jewelry exhibit was what I was there for, but Art Deco still does nothing for me. The necklace of Mumtaz which Elizabeth Taylor recieved from Richard Burton interested me more for its historical value than than its entertainment value (unless I'm watching Blue Velvet, I don't give a fig for Elizabeth Taylor). A jewel associated with the Taj Mahal, on the other hand, is fascinating.

Great Caesar's Ghost

In honor of Caesar's demise, I have decided to blog on the chthonic spirits of the Roman people. Ghosts and ancestors are universal and particular; no culture lacks tales of the dead and undeed, and yet each culture provides its own perspective. In the Romans' case, the line between ancestors and divinities was ambiguous. The 'lares', of which so many who have studied Rome have heard, were domestic guardian spirits (a word, incidentally, which encapsulates perfectly the aforementioned ambiguity). The 'manes' were the ancestors of the household paterfamilias.

The spirits of which I wish to write, however, are the less benign variety. As is common in Roman religion, these malicious forces were mentioned in the plural. Today most would associate the word 'lemur' with wide-eyed Malagasy mammals, but the (white) naturalist who discovered them named these strange and fascinating animals 'lemurs' after 'lemures', the spirits whom the Romans propitiated during the holy days of the Parentalia (in Latin, 'parentes' means 'relative' rather than 'mother and/or father'). The innate cuteness of the mammal has dissipated much of the dread and deathliness the Roman would attach to the name, but the other designation of the Parentalia threats retains a visceral and mortiferous response for the English-speaker: 'larvae'.

In short, there is no single word for 'ghost' in Latin, and yet referring to 'a ghost' in the singular is contrary to Roman usage. If Caesar wishes to haunt the classicists of today, he will have choose a companion!

Aeneas and Dido

In consideration of the sad ignorance of many of my friends of the glorious language of Cicero and Caesar, I have established a separate blog into which my attempts at recreating that noble tongue shall reside.

I went down to the JCL (Jewish Community Library) yesterday and discovered that it was hidden, oh so cleverly on the second floor of a high school. Although I had come there originally in search of a Hebrew primer and a Harry Kemelman mystery, I rejoiced upon discovering a collection of the four extant Ugaritic myths. I love mythology, I devour it, but this was the first time I had found a volume of these myths unencumbered by apparatus critici, or too precious to read at leisure. I also checked out Wednesday the Rabbi Got Wet.

Christianus ad Purim

Die Iesu Xpi dno nro post in templo Divi Didaci a nostra presbytera alteram partem sermocinii de persona et umbra secundum Iuuenum doctorem mentis audissem, post in domo meae matris eius canem salutassem et pianoforte lusissem, tunc ad Centrum Civitanum Iudaeicum Franciscopolitanum et ad dies festivales nomine Purim celebrandos et spectaculum eorundem Purim spectandum iter feci, ubi matri obuiam iui. Multae hamantasae comesae sunt. Puella partem Esther actura pulchra corpore secundum suum genus in atrio Centri matri de sua imagine capta photographice querabatur. Hoc anno ista aula ubi omnes more maiorum spectaculum Purim spectent sedibus eleuatis egit.

SVU and Greek Tragedy

I like Law & Order: SVU, despite a bookish sort. I was contemplating why this cop show would so draw me, when many others have no effect whatsoever. I have decided that there is a particular reason beyond good writing and acting. As a Classics scholar, the materials regarded as fundamental reading in the field cover such distasteful subjects as incest, rape, and cannibalism. The ability to treat the bllody kin-slaughter of the house of Atreus as a routine matter desensitizes the most empathetic classicist to some of the graphic occurances on the television and in the movies. If you've read the history of the late Roman Republic, the violence and treachery of the Sopranos are mundane occurences. SVU, however, still retains the capacity to intrigue me. It can only thrive by increasingly complex carnal mysteries which surpass those established in the Greek classical canon.

Adventus Penitentiae

Hoc vespero ad templum Divi Didaci ad diem Martis penitentiosum celebrandum veni. Multi liberi media in aula ludunt, mulieres flexibilibus in sedibus garriunt, aliae mulieres un culina coquunt. Post Iesum Christum dominum nostrum nostra pastrix Maria Maura invocaverat, omnes ieiunaturi edunt. Dicuntur fratres graecos non edere nec carnem nec caesum aetati penitentiae.

Diebus recentibus videre mutationes de ictibus casuum Danaum conatus sum, volvens ascensus descensusque et lingua et voce, legens meum Novum Testament Latine et Graece. Differt maxime saltatio syllabarum Graecarum itinere de itinere facto Latinarum.