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)

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!

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.

Friend of the Site Thursday: Suetonius

A combination of our “friends” being too lazy to write something, and James and I being too lazy to ask them to write something means that no one wrote anything. So today’s guest writer is Roman historian Suetonius, by which I mean I typed up some of the best lines from his famous The Twelve Caesars to offer further proof to my longstanding belief, which everyone should know already, that the Romans were the most baller civilization of all time. If you didn’t know that then you are stupid.

“He [Julius Caesar] had often smilingly sworn, while still in their power, that he would soon capture and crucify them; and this is exactly what he did.”

“When asked ‘Would you like to visit the Mausoleum of the Ptolemies?’ he [Augustus] replied: ‘I came to see a King, not a row of corpses.’”

“Aware that the city was architecturally unworthy of her position as capital of the Roman empire, besides being vulnerable to fire and river floods, Augustus so improved her appearance that he could justifiably boast: ‘I found Rome built of bricks; I left her clothed in marble.’”

“On the day that he died, Augustus…summoned a group of friends and asked: ‘have I played my part in the farce of life creditably enough?’”

“They spent a whole day together in confidential talk. I am well aware of the story that, when Tiberius finally took his departure, Agustus’ attendants overheard him saying: ‘Poor Rome, doomed to be masticated by those slow-moving jaws!’”

“Once, during a gaol inspection, a prisoner begged to be put out of his miser; Tiberius replied: ‘No, we are not yet friends again.’”

“When about to [feed his pet snake] as usual he [Tiberius] found it half eaten by a swarm of ants; and a soothsayer warned him: ‘Beware the power of the mob.’”

“On banishing his sisters, he remarked: ‘I have swords as well as islands.’”


I'm going to get back to working on my time machine. I pour gin into a cup, and then I put the cup with the gin in it to my lips, and then I drink the gin from the cup, and then I repeat the drinking of the gin from the cup multiple times. With enough dedication, I forget what era I'm in, and I go back and visit all my friends in Ancient Rome. Nice.

Friend of the Site Thursday

HEARTS ARE REAL BEATING THINGS WITH FEELINGS OK?!?!?!??!?!?

By which I mean "here is Hans's piece."

Valentine’s Day
By Hans

Yes, its true, the hallmark holiday is upon us again. A time to express one’s love for a significant other through tender and meditated gestures. Perhaps some flowers followed by dinner, maybe a glass of red wine followed by coitus? Perhaps we have lost sight of what this holiday is really about, much like we have lost sight of Christmas’ true meanings (not applicable to James.) What is Valentine’s Day really about?

Long before Valentine’s Day was ever associated with love, it was known as Lupercalia, an ancient Greco-Roman holiday in which young, noble boys would run through the city in the nude, carrying shaggy thongs to strike anyone they met. Women seeking fertility would purposely intersex…I mean intersect with these young boys, believing they would be aided in conceiving. A strong proponent of Greco-Roman style wrestling, I can’t help but be a fan of this ritual. How have we strayed so far from ourselves? (Does not apply if you are not Greco-Roman) Tell me what could possibly be more romantic than arming ourselves with shaggy thongs and running amuck. Think of the children. Think of the children to be had.

The word Lupercalia is derived from lupus, or wolf, which I found fascinating as my only experience with lupus is my chronic joint pain. The name Lupercalia suggests a connection to the legend of how Rome was founded. Romulus and Remus suckled the teat of a wolf after they were orphaned. Personal experience has informed me that wolf’s milk is neither tasty nor easy to get, there are many nipples on those things. As if naked boys aren’t enough to make this holiday truly special, priests would make a sacrifice of two goats and one dog to the she-wolf. The blood (it’s the color of love) would then be spread throughout the streets to promote fertility as well as keep the wolves away. On second thought, I don’t think spreading blood around would keep wolves away, and vulnerable boys definitely would not, but boy it would be cool.

Valentine’s Day has certainly come a long way, but who is to say we can’t re-connect with our past instead of someone who probably doesn’t love you anyways. I know what I’ll be doing this Valentine’s Day and I invite you to join me. You bring the boys and shaggy thongs, I’ll bring the goats.

Friend of the Site Thursday

Our Friend Eli wrote this piece.

The Building of the Brooklyn Bridge by Eli

The years 1870-1883 was not the most exciting era in U.S. history. The one exception, however, was the building of the Brooklyn Bridge. This bridge set the standard for bridge engineering and aesthetic around the world, and all under one of the most corrupt city governments this country has ever seen. One could barely build a sturdy dog-house in New York City without paying massive fees for permits and shoddy materials from corrupt contractors.[1] The story of the the Brooklyn Bridge is a beautiful, tragic and fascinating tale of individual heroism, popular resistance, and political intrigue. Unfortunately, I don’t have time to tell it tonight. So instead I’ll tell one little, amazing piece of the story: the sinking of the piers.

Even today, the piers are imposing structures, but in 1876 when both towers were completed, they dwarfed every structure around them. The second tallest building, the Trinity Chapel barely rose to half the height of the two towers.[2]

So how do you dig out 45 feet of riverbed while 70 feet underwater with neither electricity[3] nor steam shovel?!!![4] Construct an enormous box out of wood and steel (but mainly wood), pump it full of compressed air fill it full of men with shovels, and sink it to the bottom of the river, where men will dig and set small dynamite charges into bedrock so that slowly, inch by inch, the wood box sinks into the ground. When the box is at the requisite depth, you’ll get the men out (except for the 20 who died from the bends…they came out earlier) and fill it with concrete, and that will be the foundation to one your two towers.

This system of digging out river bottoms by submerging men with shovels in air-compressed boxes was not exactly new technology in 1873.[5] But it had never been done on this scale before and few believed it could be. Washington Roebling, head engineer of the Brooklyn Bridge, and perhaps one of the most brilliant figures in U.S. history, believed different. Roebling commissioned a New York shipbuilder to build him two enormous boxes (known as caissons). They were to be 168 feet x 102 feet and 21 feet high. The walls were shaped like a V: nine feet thick where they met the ceiling and tapering down to an 8 inch digging wedge. The shipbuilder was so skeptical of the plan, that they he demanded to be paid in advance.[6]

On May 3, 1870, the first caisson took off from its dock and was pulled by eight tug boats into position near the Brooklyn shore. Layer upon layer of stone was added to the top of the caisson until it had settled into the bottom of the east river. Work in the caisson was hard, dangerous and dirty.[7] At one point, fire broke out in the Brooklyn caisson’s roof. Had this fire continued much longer, 35,000 tons of stone on top would have come crashing down.

So when you’re strolling with your date en route to your nouveau-yuppie condo in DUMBO, make sure you give workers some dap.

---

[1] This was unfortunate because most people lived in dog houses

[2] Upon completion of the piers, the builder of Trinity Chapel felt inadequate

[3] didn’t exist yet…well, it did, but wasn’t harnessed…you know what I mean.

[4] A new technology prone to exploding

[5] How do you think they built Atlantis?

[6] The modern usage of “Bling” originates from Roebling’s ability to pay the ship builders with cubic zirconium

[7] That’s what she said

Friend of the Site Thursday: Emily

This week, we turn to our resident eras expert, Emily, to get some insight on one of the most luxurious and best eras, the Middle Ages.


In the Middle Ages, everyone trotted their steeds through the billowing wheat fields whilst a bird did alight upon their fair hand.


What it was like in Medieval Times

By Emily

On one of my first day trips while abroad in Bordeaux, we went to Blaye, a medieval fortress outside of Bordeaux from the Middle Ages, when men wore metal and women wore velvet. It brought me back to my first experience with the Medieval times, the Medieval Times in New Jersey, where you sat in this stadium with your arts/sports day camp where everyone is a winner and watched fake knights in armor come out onto this sand pit and joust. There would be four guys, each sporting one of the four most luxurious colors: deep purple, blood red, emerald green, and, of course, royal blue, with some sort of shield depiction a fierce animal or shape. We gnawed on oversized turkey legs and drank grape juice out of enormous clunky goblets with falcons embroidered into them, which all made us feel that the experience was historically legit. Suddenly we all got really serious and into the jousting, and I don’t remember anything after that.

I do remember the medieval fortress we went to last week, and my visit allowed me to imagine other things that existed in the middle ages. For example, there was an extreme element of luxury. Only the finest fabrics like velvet and satin were used for anything and everything: drapes, bedspreads, curtains, shower curtains, those drapes that you drape over horses backs, gowns, ties, ruffles, ruffles on shoes and ties, and of course, CLOAKS!! Embroidery was also huge back then. Once you slipped into your deep purple gown embroidered with gold doves and pear shaped leaves, you could assume all amounts of ultimate power, even though the fabric was so heavy that you could barely walk. That’s why you didn’t have to exercise, cause you burned so many calories wearing the clothing of luxury.

Walking into the fortress over the cobblestone bridge sounded medieval. While the moat is now dry, I could just hear the swishing murky water below me, full of treasure including golden medallions, jewels (rubies, sapphires, and emeralds), and golden medallions encrusted with jewels. Also audible was the sound of horse hooves clunking over the bridge, a jolly sound that was echoed by the old school stone acoustic system surrounding the fortress.

Walking inside the fortress, if I used my imagination, I could picture peasant ladies on the side of the cobblestone streets in their cream and robin’s egg blue dresses (still luxurious, because tons of fabric is always luxurious) milking small white goats that were about to get slaughtered for the king’s stew later that eve. The olde towne worked for the king day and night. After using my imagination for a while, we all got crepes, which were mad good. The oozing nutella also brought me back to that element of luxury that characterized the medieval times, as most overflowing amounts of any sort of material does.

Friend of the Site Thursday: Jared is Angry.

As you know, today is Thursday. That means we are proud to present Jared, a friend of the site, as our first guest writer in our weekly "Friend of the Site" series. Friend of the site.

Don't take Jared's fries without asking.


That Shizzle
By Jared

I really don’t understand why women in the twenties wore long gloves. It makes absolutely no sense. For what reason do you need a glove that is elbow length, besides for if you have ugly elbows. It’s the stupidest thing ever. It’s not even like they wore these gloves in the winter, which could possibly be acceptable, they wore them when year round. So if one was to wear a pair of these long gloves in the summer, it means that their forearm and hands would be extremely sweaty and gross. Why would somebody do this to themselves? Frankly, it’s retarded.

I’ve actually seen somebody wearing these gloves. One night I was at a diner with my friends and we were just chatting and eating. Side note, this girl just stuck her hand in my plate and took some of my fries and that pissed me off so much. But anyway we start hearing somebody singing some opera type stuff, and we look over and see this fat man singing. Then the person that he was sitting with returns from the bathroom. She looked like a person that was straight out of The Great Gatsby. It was hilarious. Also, she was wearing the gloves, and it was summer. Basically, she’s an idiot. She was also wearing this big ass hat that was tipped one way covering one eye. It was just a very funny sight.

Obviously the gloves were a fashion statement or whatever, but honestly it’s dumb. In all fashion from the roaring twenties sucks and should never be replicated or duplicated.