Special Birthday Wishes for TJ

Friend of the site Hilary reminded us today that it is one of the most special days of the year, not only because I had scrambled eggs for breakfast instead of my usual yogurt/splenda/tears concoction. It's Thomas Jefferson's birthday! You may or may not be familiar with our feelings here at MG about TJ (pronounced Teej), but if you are not, let me explain: We f-ing love him, and though we'll be the first to acknowledge his faults (had an affair with his slave Sally Hemmings, had slaves), we'll defend him until the end (she was his beloved dead wife's half sister ok, the situation was COMPLICATED) as a great thinker, scientist (love that copying machine!), architect, President, and all around cool bro. Happy birthday TJ, why today is not a national holiday is blowing our minds.

Nostalgia for Disappearing Knowledge: Part one of a series

I generally embrace the relaxed dress code of today's American society. I think it's swell that people are free to explore the frontiers of fashion and the limits of how tight pants can be in order to express themselves. I like not getting laughed at (to my face) by anyone for the clothes I wear. But as an ardent nostalgaist and a dabbling sartorialist, I sometimes wish for times of stricter dress codes. The times when dinner jackets were worn to dinner, hunting jackets for hunting, smoking jackets for smoking, and morning jackets for riding horses.

This does not mean I wish everybody looked the same. Individuality still exists, just in a less obvious way. Wearing an ironic t-shirt that nobody has is one way to show everyone how cool you are. But I'd rather be in olden times and wear the same fedora everyone else wore except fold the brim low and cock it to the side. If everyone is wearing a tuxedo subtle differences make things cool or not. So many decisions to make. Peaked lapels or notched? Shawl collar or wing collar?

This piece originated as a flash in my brain that said "what's up with all these different kinds of Jackets? Let's write a history of Jackets." That I would have to undergo historical research tells enough. These conventions are not widely known. College libraries and academic databases don't even know. I resorted GQ for background information. It almost makes me sad that this kind of information is disappearing. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to research nineteenth century sailing terminology.

Caption Contest

What is going on in this picture?

Other Considered Titles for The Wasteland

Eliot on the set of Batman

1. The Garbage Can
2. Why is Everyone Such a Lamesauce Except for Me?
3. The Extraplace
4. The Waistland
5. The Princess Diaries

Today in History

The north beat the south at the battle of Shiloh in 1862. Ulysses S Grant got to take Shiloh home, and she was the prettiest baby the world had ever seen.

Love or Confusion?

How could anybody not love him?!!?!? Oh I will tell you how.


Guys, I am really stressed out. Like more than when my Valentines day didn't exist because of a difference in opinion over whether our Valentines day should exist. What do you do when you think someone is so awesome and then it turns out they hate the stuff you like? Do you just say goodbye? Do you try to work out the differences, accepting that different people have different tastes? At what point does a difference in opinion mean more than taste, and signify a completely different outlook on life?

Point being, I'm reading Boswell's Life of Johnson (sidenote: that book is f-ing heavy), and I love Dr Johnson so much, but he doesn't like Hume or Swift, and I'm really stressed out about this. I can get over the fact that apparently Dr. Johnson was really fat, and he ate like a beast and would just shovel food down his throat without talking and his veins bulged, and I can even look past our differences in religion. But hating Hume and just thinking Swift is not funny is too much.

If you have any suggestion for how to get over this moral crisis I am currently experiencing, please help me.

Note: I wrote this before reading this, which is about a similar topic and quotes a really good family friend.

Friend of the Site Thursday (Friday): Birth/Worth of a Nation

Betsy Ross, moments before going into labor.


This is Drew. Here's something he wrote.






Any scholar knows that the birth of a nation draws many parallels to the birth of a child. Let me extrapolate. The colonies of the New World were a part of the English Empire, just as a fetus is a part of its mother. That would make the settlement of Jamestown the moment of conception. However, England tried to "impregnate" the New World previously, so I guess that would make Roanoke Island some girl who totally freaked out and thought she was pregnant even though she actually wasn't. In truth, her freak out was probably more annoying for her boyfriend than Roanoke Island was for the English. Nonetheless, after the settlement of Jamestown, the colonies grew geographically and economically, like a fetus growing in size and strength. Mind you, this was mild growth. The fetus cannot just punch a hole through the abdominal cavity and march out of the womb throwing Earl Grey into the ocean. The relationship between the colonies and England was always strained and uncomfortable; much like a woman's morning sickness. But at certain point the fetus decides that it's had quite enough of its dark, gooey, powerless situation, so it writes a Declaration of Independence, and induces labor. The baby can't just slide out; the USA can't just be independent. The mother fights through labor, England fought through a war with the colonies. They both lose. But America had some help from the French and Spanish, which are the equivalent of some French-made birthing forceps and a Spanish epidural. And that is how America was born. It was not until many years later that America matured enough to experience the embarrassment of unexpectedly "sailing at full mast" during gym class (the Vietnam War)

Some things that have happened in my Ancient Greek History class (so far!)

1. Our professor listed all the mistakes we made on our essay test
2. I realized I had done like all of them.
3. Our professor tried to use the computer so she could show her slide show, but coudln't turn it on.
4. Our professor left the room for ten minutes.
5. She came back with two helpers
6. A kid in the front row groaned really loudly
7. The guy next to me started angrily sighing louder and louder
8. My professor and one of the helpers spent a lot of time staring at the computer with their hands pensively on their chins
9. The second helper spent this time staring at the wall with a scowl, because she cannot believe she is actually here
10. The guy next to me typed angrilly
11. A third helper just walked in. Results are unclear as to how my professor contacted her through esp.
12. The second helper (the angry one) left the room without saying anything
13. Then the first helper left the room without saying anything
14. Our professor told us what would happen on Monday, while helper three opened a mysterious box inside the podium.
15. the guy next to me left the room.
16. Note: it is now 3:10. We have been here for half an hour.
17. My professor may or may not have offered the remaining helper (still crouched below the podium) some hard candy.
18. OH MY GOD A NEW HELPER JUST WALKED IN. ARE YOU KIDDING?!?!?!?!

At this point, 3:17pm, I just gave up. On a lot of things.

Self Hating Nerds

It's been a rough morning for all of us here. We tried to write, but we just ended up instant messaging from our respective libraries. James goes to Olin Library where the lighting and bodies are soft. I go to Science Library because there is a harsh fluorescent glare and tons of hot athletes.

A tasty sampling:

Smophietown25: there is the hugest nerd brigade here in the library right now
Smophietown25: i'm so bored right now
Jroz618: well wtf are you doing in sci li?
Smophietown25:i didn't know what else to do
Jroz618: Go home and do something if you don't have anything to do
Smophietown25: like it didn't even occur to me that i don't have work
Smophietown25: it's just a reflex to go to sci li
Jroz618: oh soph

Jroz618: In 3rd grade I spelled my name Jamamie on a spelling test and
the teacher showed the whole class.

Smophietown25: Girls in Dublin are so tacky. Don’t they realize that it is a)not SUMMER and b)ugly to wear that, so please take off your white linen shorts, stilettos, and shirt that is really just a bra, and wash off like 10 pounds of that makeup.

Jroz618: i hate this stop mainstreaming wes bullshit because most people who say it are incredibly boring themselves
Smophietown25: i hate everyone
Jroz618: and just pretend to be unique because they are so lame
Jroz618: they are what TS Eliot was talking about
Smophietown25: omg so true
Smophietown25: they are the wasteland
Smophietown25: more like the gay land

This has been fun!

Photo Phun with Phriends of the Site

We (I) realized we never did anything for the Ides of March, which have now both come and passed, so here are photos of Friends of the Site Tim and JP, who have very Roman hair.





Also, we feel that knowing what Friend of the Site Scott looks like is important to understanding his word choice and applying it to your everyday conversations. Go Wes Hockey!

Historical Horses: George Washington Edition

These are some of them.

George Washington bought Magnolia [1] , an Arabian horse, for 500 pounds [2] from his step-son Jon Parke Custis’s estate after the British surrendered at Yorktown.[3] He was thought to be one of the colonies’ most beautiful horses, with a blondie mane [4] and tail.[5] After an unsuccessful racing career, Magnolia was put out to stud. [6] Unknown speaker Jean Le Mayer [7] said: "I am at a loss for words to express my gratitude for the new offer of the services [8] of your horse Magnolia. I think him an elegant horse and would prefer my mares going to him rather than any one I have seen in America." [9]
George Washington had another horse named Nelson who served him at Valley Forge. When Nelson got old, Washington kept him and his other warhorse Blueskin “in a nice stable, where they feed away at their ease for their past services.” [10]

Sources
http://www.ushistory.org/valleyforge/youasked/024.htm
http://www.equisearch.com/horses_riding_training/travel/eqmtvernon2213/



FOOTNOTES
[1] English for “flower”
[2] My foul ex friend Violet stinks like Magnolia flowers, the most smelly of all flowers.
[3] Custis was unhappy about the sale, reminding Washington, “You’re not my real dad.” Washington laughed heartily and reminded him, “Yes, but you're dead.”
[4] Like sophie!
[5] James gets no tail.
[6] His stud pasture was in Los Angeles, chronicled in the biopic “Magnolia” starring William H Macy as George Washington (probably).
[7] No relation
[8] Ayyyyyyy!!!
[9] The mares thoughts that Magnolia was boring and only talked about lacrosse which was ridiculous because he went to a Division Three school so it’s not like he had a future in it anyway.
[10] Washington also invented social security.

Words, Words, Words, or: The Scott/Ben Franklin dictionary

Did I seriously write that?

James is away on a real Spring Break trip, while I'm at home getting caught up on work, sleep, and crying into a pile of Splenda. Since our respective plans for the next two weeks means we won't be posting much, I thought I'd give you a few new phrases to practice using in the downtime. In the tradition of Dr. Johnson's dictionary, here they are, courtesy of friend of the site Scott, except for the first one, which is from urboy Ben Franklin:

1. Halfway to Concord--Adj, from Ben Franklin. Means drunk.
1a. Concord--Adj, from James. Means blackout.

Note: The rest of these will all be from Friend of the Site Scott.

2. Peep--verb, to look at something. ("Who is this guy you've been dating? I peeped him on facebook, and he looks like a total lame." Sidenote: Scott uses Lame as a noun, and you should too).
3. Chuckie--Noun. Means a lame.
4. Right in my wheelhouse--Adj. Means to one's liking ("I peeped her in class, she's right in my wheelhouse.")
5. Chickadee—Proper noun. What you call a girl you think is pretty. Also use this when you can't remember a girl's name.
6. Freako/Piggo--Term of indearment. Use this when you can't remember people’s names. Not gender specific.

I hope we all learned something today. I know I did.

Suggestion

Hey Grumpelstiltskins, turn those frowns upside down! You get to relocate!

Dear Andrew Jackson,
Hey! It’s Sophie. How are you? I’m OK, keeping busy with school. My professors have really been up my behind lately, and I wanna be like, hey, lay off!
Anyway, I know you are just doing your job, and I know the Indians can be annoying because they take people captive and they have long hair.
But maybe rethink the title “Trail of Tears.” Because who wants to go on a trail of tears? That’s not going to get anyone excited to leave their homes and civilizations and walk hundreds of miles while crying. What about “happy fun walk?” or “good times on foot?” I’ve found it really is true what they say about winning over people more with honey than with vinegar, and this can apply in your case if you replace “honey” and “vinegar” with “life” and “death.” This can mean asking rather than telling, like with a pleasant “hey you guys, might you consider living somewhere else?” I’m serious, it could work.
Anyway, think about it.

Hugs and kisses
Sophie

PS—I know being President is stressful, so I purposely left out the issue of your eyebrows in this email, but you know what I’m talking about:





PPS—These actually came up on the first and second pages when I google image searched “Trail of Tears”

Caption Contest

The clothed guys are supposed to be Virgil and Dante. But use your imagination!

My Good Ideas

My Good Ideas

1. A strip club run by me (my nickname at school is PC), that would somehow incorporate literature (bras with pictures of famous writers embroidered on them?), called the PC Woodhouse.
2. A book on the importance of grammar and punctuation called “Call me, Ishmael!”
3. A wild west themed restaurant called Butch Casserole (it would serve casserole and food like casserole).


My Bad Ideas

1. Going to a strip club
2. Calling this guy I know named Ishmael
3. Eating casserole

Week In Perspective: The time has come to talk of monkey things

OMG THAT MONKEY IS LISTENING TO AN IPOD!!!!!!!!

Or, Three paragraphs just to tell Paul Rudnick to stop being such a
hack.

Monkeys come up a lot. In TV shows, in science experiments, in the jungle, in movies about science experiments or the jungle, at the zoo. Everyone knows monkeys are funny, even the word is funny. I think it's the unk sound, because Dunk and Uncle are also
funny, as are dunkaroos. Also my uncle dunking a basketball while eating dunkaroos.

Monkeys are even infiltrating our judicial system, and have been since the beginning of America/time. There was the Scopes Monkey trial in 1925, over teaching evolution in schools. In 1824 there was Gibbons V Ogden, in which two Gibbon monkeys who drove steamships were arguing over Congress's right to regulate commerce. Then one monkey hit the other monkey on the head and everyone laughed and the case was thrown out, because how can we stay mad at each other on such a sunny day? Most recently, a Liberian woman that wanted to eat monkeys was taken to court over her right to continue her tribal custom of eating "non-human primate species" (my foul ex-friend Violet?).

Yes, monkeys are funny, whether they are in diapers or smoking cigarettes, both of which make them look like old people, and maybe there is a lesson in that. But monkeys are also serious, as they are in court all the time. And you know what else is serious? Monkey jokes. Seriously OLD. With this serious realization on the cultural weight of monkeys, it is time to lay these jokes to rest. That includes you, Paul Rudnick.

Friend of the Site: The Worst Day Ever

Our friend Ben shares his thoughts on February 28th.

We all know that One is the loneliest number that you’ll ever do, but have you ever thought about how lonely other units of measurement are? ‘One’ may be the loneliest number, but February 28^th is clearly the loneliest day. Ever since 1582 when Pope Gregory the XIII and the Catholic Church decided to play ‘Mary’ and pop an extra day out of nowhere, the 28^th has been relegated to the role of ‘has been’ and side-show. This was of course a modification of the Julian calendar established by Julius Caesar in 46 B.C.E., and is designed for the sole purpose of keeping the vernal equinox as close to March 21^st as possible. What does this accomplish? An Easter celebration that is calendarily [sic] static! The problem is bunnies don’t really care when Easter is, and they definitely don’t care about February 28^th. They only care about whether there are enough carrots, marshmallow birds and delicious cream filled eggs in their baskets. But February 28^th cares. It cares a lot.

Of course this isn’t exactly the first offense levied against the 28^th. In my time spent with the day I have found enough repressed infantile sexuality that Freud is likely turning over in his nasty little grave. Think about it: the last day of the shortest month of the year? And everyone knows? Arguing that it’s really a normal day and even looks bigger because the month is so short is only lying to yourself. There is a lot of worry in that poor days head.

Only adding to the issue is that the 28^th and 29^th have a terrible relationship. Robin Williams jokes about Canada being the loft apartment over a great party (the U.S.). Well think of February 28^th as the boiler rooms under Middle America’s industrial factories: cold, empty and impotent (the metaphor works when you realize that it’s still February and the winter sucks so its not like the factory floor is that great anyway). Throughout history February the 29^th has been surrounded by an almost bacchanalian aura. It was not so uncommon up through the 1970’s to celebrate a leap year through alcohol. This obviously gave rise to the historical tradition of ‘gender reversal’ on the 29^th, epitomized by the 17^th century play ‘The Maydes Metamorphosis’, which in theatrical form demonstrated that it was not unusual for women to dawn breeches and petticoats and in the small-private-northeast-liberal arts university tradition, do the ‘woo’ing’ themselves. This type of behavior also likely gave rise to the 19^th century New Orleans tradition of including celebratory trials and hangings on the 29^th as well (it was a patriarchal society and if you didn’t have a penis then it was usually unwise to pretend that you do). The libation that filled February 29^th has only begun to fade from our conscience, and that is only because of the prevalence of very poorly made cocktails named after the day.

What I have tried to impress upon you today is to think about the consequences of the leap year. It is not a victimless compensation. Man may suffer eternally, but for our own convenience we have made it so that February 28^th now suffers along side. Every four years the day’s misery is compounded by the return of the 29^th, and so every four years we, as a community, should reflect on the real world impact of our conveniences. Only every four years though, there is no sense in being bogged down all the time.

Caption Contest

The Biggest Lies in History

Theodore Roosevelt was a Rough Rider

The Biggest Lies in History:

Columbus discovered America

Jacksonian Democracy

Theodore Roosevelt’s sexuality

When Mother told me that I’d like moving to New Jersey from New York because I’ll have a back yard to play in

The French “Resistance” in World War Two

The McCain-Feingold campaign finance reform act

My “relationship” with my seventh grade girlfriend

“You are a very qualified candidate but at this time we have no openings. Good luck!”

Week in Perspective

When you write on the internet, anyone can hear you. My Ben Franklin post on Monday caused something of a stir in my family. When I posted it, I was more worried about future employers reading it than my parents, since they have some idea of my habits anyway. I reassured my mother and father over the phone that some parts of the story were exaggerated for effect. She then asked, "What about twelve beers in twenty two minutes?" No, that was true.

My mother sent me this note after reading the post.

You made your mother look up venery in the dictionary. But you also made me laugh out loud. Not telling which parts. And I'm getting closer to the derivation of your nickname, but the closer I get, the less I want to know. Finally, 12 beers in 22 minutes sounds like bad judgment no matter what century you are living in or whose rules you are following.

Love,

Mommy

I guess that's "approval."

Have a good weekend, we'll see you Monday.