Ambition Starts Young

While I was browsing around the gift shop at Bath, looking for souvenirs (I eventually settled on a wine goblet), I stumbled upon this: a child's biography of Julius Caesar. Now, I realize we all want our children to grow up to achieve something...but is this really the type of bedtime story we want them to be raised on?!?

"Joe, you know you have friends? Well when Caesar was your age, all his friends, the populares, were murdered by a bad man named Sulla."

"Look Jimmy, that's Julius Caesar's men routing a Gallic Army and enslaving their women and children."

"He's not going for a swim, Molly, he's crossing the Rubicon to destroy his political enemies."

"That's right, Susie, Caesar and his friend Cleopatra are hugging, yes, hugging. You say you want to know why they aren't wearing clothes? Oh. uh...."

"No Michael, Caesar didn't make a mess with his finger paints, he's bleeding to death on the Senate floor after being stabbed 23 times."

It's always reassuring to know that our children have good role models to help them become stable, contributing members of society.

Travels Continue...

Wow, it's been more than a month since I've written....

Right, since I was negligent in describing the rest of my trip in blog format, I'm going to do a quick series of entries that will be loaded with pictures (always a plus) with some brief narrative to tell you how the hell I ended up in those places.

The next day after the trip to the British museum we signed up for a bus trip to see Stonehenge and Bath. Here are the pictures from that trip:








































I should comment on the atmosphere of Stonehenge. When you're there, you look around and you can hardly see anything. There is the road, but that is deserted, and even the parking lot and visitors center are concealed by a nearby hill. You are cut off completely from civilization, alone with the structure that has been there for thousands of years. Stonehenge seems a fixed moment in time, where nothing changes but the weather and human beings are but a momentary intrusion.

One of the many Barrows (burial mounds) that dot the landscape surrounding the Henge.

The square where we got off the bus in Bath - believe it or not, virtually all the architecture in the city was like this.

An excavated portion of the bath inside the museum.
The stacks of bricks that would have supported the raised floor in the Calidarium and allowed for the heating of the room.
Me at the great bath.

More from the British Museum

What introduction need these two men? Alexander the Great and Julius Caesar.

Augustus

Livia (the bust on the left) was the wife of the Emperor Augustus and a formidable politician in her own right. Discourses preserved in the Biographies of Suetonius reveal a very close working relationship between husband and wife, although she has since been dogged by rumors of poisoning. Ancient authors such as Tacitus hint that she may have been responsible for the deaths of many of Augustus' heirs, thus opening up the way to the throne for her son, Tiberius (the statue on the right). Tiberius would prove to be a competent, if unpopular, Emperor. During his reign, administration was on the whole rather good, though it was marred by the frequent treason trials, the influence of the Praetorian Prefect, Sejanus, and Tiberius' retirement to the island of Capri late in his reign.
Unlucky to have his reign sandwiched between the reigns of two very bad Emperors (Caligula and Nero), Claudius tends to be painted in a similarly bad light by ancient authors. His limp and speech impediment caused many of his contemporaries to think him an idiot and he spent much of his early life studying and writing history, largely ignored by the other members of the Julio-Claudian dynasty. His reign was marked by competent, efficient leadership, although his taste in women was remarkably bad.



















The Flavians: After the Julio-Claudian dynasty crashed and burned, Rome endured a year in which four men in succession held the throne. The last of these was Vespasian, whose moderate rule brought a great deal of stability to the Empire. His son Titus would prove to be a short-lived chip off the old block before the autocratic rule of Domitian (not pictured) brought an end to the dynasty.
Trajan's reign would be marked by near-constant campaigning and it was towards the end of his rule that Rome's Empire would reach its greatest size.



















Hadrian (left) spent the majority of his reign touring and examining the Empire as it stood. He made the unpopular (but prudent) decision of abandoning some of Trajan's less defensible conquests and was famously enamored with Greek culture, even taking up a boy lover, Antinous (right), whose death in the 130's Hadrian would mourn extravagantly.
Antoninus Pius - chosen by Hadrian basically to be a regent for his relative Marcus Aurelius, who was too young to rule at the time, Antoninus Pius nonetheless lived and ruled for another 30 years and his rule is remembered for its extreme stability.



















Marcus Aurelius (left) and Lucius Verus (right) ruled effectively as co-Emperors, although the former is more remembered due to his longer life, his campaigns throughout the Empire and his published work, To Myself, which describes his innermost thoughts and philosophical beliefs.

Anyway, for those of you who basically already knew this stuff, I'm sorry if this turned into a pedantic lecture on the Roman Emperors, but I have to write something beneath the photos, and I feel that these tidbit make the artifacts all the more meaningful. And for those who don't know, but are interested, I hope this was an entertaining read.

Change of Plans et al.

Originally, my mother and I were planning to travel through Southern France, Italy and Greece on the break between Hilary and Trinity Terms, and then my Dad and I would tour England after Trinity Term. We thought this was best since it would allow us to avoid the Mediterranean during the really hot months and Mom would get to see the South of France. What we didn't realize however was that trying to get plane tickets to Rome a week before Easter is madness. So we've switched things around a bit: my Mom and I are going to tour England and Ireland - which is good, as it gives us more time to plan the Europe trip, it will allow her to see York, the city of her ancestry as well as Ireland. Then, my Dad and I will travel Europe, which is also good since he's wanted to see Italy. In keeping with our plan to tour England, my Mom and I went down into London today to see the British Museum.

First impressions: this place is HUGE. There are easily 80 or so large rooms filled with artifacts from virtually every culture in Earth's history. I'm going to post pictures of them below. Naturally the lion's share of my time was spent in the Classics section, and as I look back a VERY large portion of the photographs are of busts and statues (always nice to see a familiar face), but I'll try to break it up with some other things.

Aeschines - one of the greatest Orators of the ancient World
This strange looking rock was originally part of the beard on the Sphinx in Egypt. Historians debate whether it was an original part of the colossal statue or if it was added later.
Demosthenes - another of the greatest orators. Demosthenes' orations against Philip II of Macedon (called "The Philippics") played a large role in Greek resistance to Macedonian dominance and were the inspirations for some of Cicero's greatest speeches against Marc Antony (also called "The Philippics")
This temple was discovered in Lycia (Southern Turkey) and is a mixture of Greek and Persian styles. It was moved to the British museum, although I wonder what the Turks think of one of their monuments being in Britain...
Homer. A Roman copy of a Greek original. Although when we say Greek original, that does not mean this is what Homer actually looked like. According to most modern experts, Homer probably lived sometime in the late 8th century BCE, long before Greek sculpture had reached this stage of development. Nobody knows what he really looked like. Or for that matter if he even existed.
part of the Pediment to the Parthenon. The Parthenon itself remained largely intact throughout late antiquity, the middle ages and the Renaissance before the Ottomans decided to use it to store gunpowder in the late 17th century. One mortar round from an enemy artillery piece was enough to change all that. As I said when I saw this, "I bet the Greeks would give their eye teeth to get these pieces back."
Hesiod. Like Homer, Hesiod was an oral poet living before the Classical Era. And like the bust of Homer, this bust is a Roman copy of a Greek original which was in turn just the imagining of an artist living long after Hesiod died.


The Warren Cup. Readers who took Professor Scholtz's "Gender and Sexuality in the Ancient World" course with me may remember this piece from discussions late in the semester. Depicted on it are two pairs of male lovers engaging in sexual intercourse. Believe it or not, this was considered high art. Just goes to show how sensibilities have changed.
Socrates. This too is an artistic imagining, although unlike Homer and Hesiod, this one is, if I recall correctly, based on a description of him. Unfortunately (or perhaps fortunately) the real Socrates was both too poor and too modest to go around having sculptures made of him.
The Famed Rosetta Stone. Discovered in Egypt during the Napoleonic Wars, this inscription would prove the key to unlocking the Egyptian language. It contains a proclamation by one of the Ptolemaic Kings in Ancient Greek, Ancient Egyptian and Demotic, which allowed Europeans, who knew Ancient Greek to figure out what the Egyptian language was saying, what sounds it was making and what its grammar structure was. It's basically the Mona Lisa of the British Museum, albeit without the smile.

It's been too long since I've written

Technically speaking, I've been on break for a couple of weeks now - Hilary term ended on the 13th of March, and since then I've been busying myself with Greek Tragedy, Alice in Wonderland, reworking a couple of papers, and otherwise just sleeping late and trying to find inexpensive ways to amuse myself. I did finally see Percy Jackson and the Lightning Thief, and while the pacing was sometimes rather bad, I had a blast with it; the author clearly takes great pleasure in integrating elements of Ancient Greek Mythology with the modern day (eg. Olympus is now located at the top of the Empire State Building, the Isle of the Lotus Eaters is now a Vegas Casino where a bite of their famous lotus flowers will make you forget all desires but to party forever, and Hermes apparently now has a pair of winged chucks). Oh and did I mention that Poseidon is played by Lucius Vorenus?

The movie does have its problems, mythologically speaking. It has to bend a lot of the rules of Greek mythology in order to tell its story and jive with the modern day. The premise is that the titular hero (like many other people) is the son of an Olympian and a mortal woman, and while it's true that such couplings are quite common in Greek mythology, this was only during Hesiod's age of heroes. The age of heroes was a period ranging from about four generations before the Trojan War down to the fall of Troy. During this time period, immortals and mortals coupled somewhat frequently and the fruit of these unions were demigods, heroes such as Achilles, Hercules, Perseus, etc. After the Trojan War however, Zeus supposedly decreed that gods were no longer allowed to couple with, rape, booty call or in any way deflower mortals, since conflict between the heroes tended to lead to strife between their parent deities. There were still a few descendants of these heroes, however: Julius Caesar and Augustus both claimed to be descended from the Trojan Hero Aeneas, while Marc Antony considered Hercules to be one of his ancestors. While there were "descendants" of the original heroes, however, the heroes themselves were long gone. Thus, the premise that Percy or any of his friends are the sons and daughters of gods breaks with Greek Mythology, although the author is hardly alone in this slip-up: Olympias, the mother of Alexander the Great also liked to claim that she was impregnated not by her husband, Phillip II, but by Zeus.

Then there are other little problems: Annabeth, the female lead is described as being the daughter of Athena. The daughter of a Virgin Goddess. Oops. The movie describes Zeus, Hades and Poseidon as being in constant rivalry, whereas Homer makes it quite clear that Zeus is by far the most powerful, that he is the unchallenged King of the Gods and that everything that happens is in accordance with his will, even when other gods are trying to circumvent his decisions. All in all though, these issues are fairly minor, and I took a great deal of pleasure in pointing them out to myself as I watched the movie. For people who aren't really into Greek mythology, this movie will seem luke-warm, but to classics nuts like myself, the film presents an interesting reworking of Ancient Greek mythology and will be enjoyable, if not perfect.

Anyway, apologies for the lengthy diversion on this movie, but I thought it was worth discussing. A few days ago, my mother made the leap across the pond and came to visit me - we checked out the Ashmolean museum, Blackwells and just wandered throughout the towns looking at the colleges for a couple days, and then made our way to London. We checked in at a hostel on Caledonian Road called "Journeys" and were promptly disappointed with it. The people were nice on the whole, but it was very loud, very cramped and in a not-so-nice neighborhood. During the night my mother's reading glasses were stolen, and by the time we woke up, we had both decided that we should find somewhere else to stay. It was during the night though that I made a couple of discoveries, the first of which will be the subject of another diversion.

Back at the beginning of Hilary Term, when I discovered I'd been admitted to St. Catherine's College, I was disappointed. Cats (as it is known) is at least a half hour walk away from my house, the architecture is very 1960's (see my photo on the right). Not exactly what you think of when you think of Oxford. Furthermore, the college doesn't have Classics students, and thus the classics section at its library (the only lending library from which I can actually take out books) is very small. In fairness, the people are very friendly and the school has an excellent academic reputation (it has produced more Nobel Prize winners than any other school at Oxford), but it wasn't exactly what I'd pictured when I decided to attend Oxford. So I asked the head of the program, Deepak, if it would be possible to switch to Christ Church College, which is older, much more upper-crust, much closer, has more classics students and all the Gothic Architecture a student could want. Deepak told me no, that unfortunately Christ Church demands a strict 4.0 GPA, and that I was thus ineligible (my GPA is aproximately 3.65). He did mention that it might be possible to transfer me to Hertford College, which is more relaxed in its academic requirements, but warned me that it would be extremely difficult, and if it was possible at all, it wouldn't be until Trinity term. He would try, but he wouldn't make any promises. I said okay, privately thinking that this was his polite way of telling me to bugger off and I went on my merry way, resolving to make the best of it. And I had a great term. Granted, very little of it was spent at Cats, but I nonetheless enjoyed the academic experience immensely, and even got a St. Cats hoodie and scarf.

Fast Forward to four days ago. I had had trouble getting my final grades for Hilary term, and so when Deepak asked me to meet me at his office, I figured he was just going to give me my grades. When I got in, he sat me down and told me frankly that they still hadn't gotten my grades, but that he wanted to speak to me about something else. He recalled that I had asked about switching Schools at the beginning of the term and told me that it wouldn't be possible to switch me to Hertford. "Yep," I thought to myself, "guess I'll be spending both terms at Cats." Then Deepak told me about the initiation requirements for Oxford colleges: It was true, he said, that Christ Church has a strict 4.0 GPA requirement for its students, but it also requires the OPUS program (my study abroad program) to provide the college with 6 students. At the end of Hilary term, many students from the Opus program had left, and of the new students that were coming for Trinity term, there weren't enough 4.0 GPA's to supply Christ Church with its 6 students. Thus, OPUS either had to not provide 6 students, or had to provide some students who had lower GPA's. To Deepak's mind it was better to provide the full 6, and since I already had experience with the Oxford educational system, he was offering one of the spots at Christ Church (my dream college) to me. It wasn't set in stone, and it was still up in the air as to whether it was a possibility, but there was a chance. Needless to say, I was floored. I tried to remain calm, but I think he could tell how excited I was by this possibility. As I left, he told me that he would know for sure on Monday. Which is how this story relates to my stay in the Journeys Hostle - when I checked my email that night, I found a message from Deepak confirming my admission to Christ Church. So Jan DeWitt is in The House!

The other discovery I made was not so good: as I was thinking things over on my way to sleep, I realized that I had forgotten to pack spare resovoirs for my insulin pump (it goes through a resovoir about every 3 days) and new sites (the part that enters my body). Not good. I tried contacting the supplier to see if they could send someone to meet me with some, but that was a no go, so I was left with no alternative but to make the trip back to Oxford and grab the diabetic supplies I needed. This would prove to be an adventure in itself. Having chosen a new hostel to stay at, Palmers Lodge, we decided to leave our baggage briefly at Journeys (I brought along only my book bag) and strike out for the city. My mother would spend the day at the National Art Museum, while I would make the journey to Oxford to grab my stuff.

We parted ways at the entrance to the underground and I bought my 4.50 pound ticket to Heathrow Airport. After spending an hour on the subway, during which I managed to read the better part of Euripides' Orestes, I got on a bus at Heathrow and made my way back to Oxford.

I think the new Trinity students must be starting to arrive, for I saw one girl, a Math major if the complex equations she was writing are any indication, tell the bus driver that she was studying at "St. Catherine's College." I smiled, thinking fondly back to my first arrival in Oxford, which, if you've been reading my blog, was actually a miserable, cold, exhausting day. I suppose that's how time colors our perception of memories. Ultimately though, Deepak was right when he said, on my second day here, that "you never forget your first love affair with Oxford."

Having arrived in Oxford, I dashed back to my flat, grabbed the things I needed (and an extra outlet converter to boot) and dashed back to the bus station. I got back on board and after spending another hour and a half riding back to Heathrow (during which I read Euripides' Phoenician Women), I took the underground back to Caledonian Road, grabbed the luggage from Journeys and took a 12 pound cab ride to my new abode. I have to say, Palmers Lodge is almost the opposite of Journeys. It seems that it was once a Victorian Mansion and has since been converted into a hostel. As such, the entire place is tastefully decorated with carpets, portraits and comfortable chairs, there are plenty of windows and the beds are large and comfortable. And after such a long and trying day, I needed it. After a dinner of Spaghetti Bolognese and a glass of wine, I was well ready for bed. Today I will hopefully be seeing a bit more of London before making my way to the continent tomorrow.

Why is a Raven Like a Writing Desk?

A couple of posts ago I made a list of things I had to do (and still have to do) before next term. In the course of it I mentioned going to see Percy Jackson and the Olympians. Since my days are now disconcertingly free, I decided that today would be the day to finally go see this modern foray into Greek mythology. Now the local theater, Odeon (which as it happens is very appropriately named for the movie I was planning to see) is not like movie theaters in the States. Whereas we are used to having every movie which is playing available to be seen at least five times a day, in Britain such convenience is only available for the very new and very popular movies. Thus, Percy Jackson only plays at noon on Saturdays and Sundays.

With this in mind, I set out with Meryl, Frank and Dustin (all of whom had things they needed to do) at around 11:30 this morning and headed downtown. After we split up at the corner of Cornmarket and High Street, I headed down the road, wondering if the tickets were going to be cheap enough that my debit card wouldn't cover them (most businesses have a five pound minimum when using card). However, when I got to the Odeon which is closest to my house, I was perplexed to find I had the wrong time: Percy Jackson was playing at 11:30, and thus I was a good twenty minutes late. Even more bemusing however was the fact that the Odeon was locked up tight. Somewhat confused, I instead wended my way through several alleys and streets to arrive at the other Odeon, which is very close to Glaucester Green, the place where I first got off the bus in Oxford. Like the previous theater, this Odeon too had Percy Jackson listed at 11:30. Unlike the previous cinema, however, this one was open, so I stepped inside and, glancing at the movies currently playing, decided to see Tim Burton's latest imagining, Alice in Wonderland.

I needn't have feared that my debit card wouldn't do the trick. At 9.85 pounds, movie tickets in Britain are a good deal more expensive than they are in the United States, although I suppose the presence of seat numbers and the ability to pick where one sits beforehand lends the whole experience a touch more class. Also, this was a 3D movie, which I'm sure contributed to the exorbitant price as well. Going over to the snack bar (I hadn't eaten yet that day), I noticed one phenomenon that seems to have made its way across the pond: ridiculously high snack prices. A medium-sized popcorn and a large soda cost me 6.95 pounds. Normally I wouldn't buy food at such a price, but I was hungry, so I swiped my card and carried my junk food into the theater.

I have to say, I quite enjoyed Alice. The acting was without exception very good, even excellent. Indeed, the cast list is practically a who's-who list of great actors and actresses, especially great British Thespians. The essentially unknown Mia Wasikowska is backed up by Johnny Depp as the Mad Hatter, Alan Rickman as Absalom the Caterpillar, Stephen Fry as the Cheshire Cat, Anne Hathaway (the one who didn't marry Shakespeare) as the White Queen, Helena Bonham Carter as the Red Queen and (briefly) Christopher Lee as the Jabberwocky. Above all I have to say Depp's performance stood out as my favorite. Aside from his famous talent on the screen, the concept of having Johnny Depp, who is well-known for his predilection for good hats, play the Mad Hatter is brilliant, although this may just be my personal bias; for like Depp's character, I too have a passion for fine hats and good tea.

Finally, it just seems so appropriate that I should be seeing Alice in Wonderland here, of all places, for Lewis Carroll was an alumnus and teacher at Christ Church College, and it's said that he based the characters from the work on people he knew there. As I was walking back home after the performance, feeling somewhat whimsical in my beautiful hat and looking forward to a cup of tea when I got home, I walked by Christ Church and, on a whim, stopped in a small shop, Alice's Shop, across the street. Inside were all sorts of trinkets of Lewis Carroll's story, from key chains to backwards clocks, to girls' dresses, to books. All in all, an unusual, but in no way unpleasant, day.

My Experience with Socialized Medicine

Since I've been in England, I've had the benefit of experiencing the English pub scene, British academia, Traditional English breakfasts and the famous British Tea. But it was only a matter of time before I came face to face with the horror that Fox Noise tells us we all dread...Socialized Medicine!

Tonight, before going to bed, I checked my blood sugar and discovered that it was 77 (not horrible, but not great either). To keep me through to the morning, I made a peanut butter and jelly sandwich with what bread I had left, and then went to sleep. About two hours later, I awoke feeling queezy, and on the urging of my stomach, got up and coated the sink with that peanut butter and jelly sandwich. I hoped I would feel better after that, but no, scarcely a half an hour later I again felt sick and so returned my face to the sink. This time very little came up. This was still a problem though, as a diabetic who can't eat can't raise his blood sugars, and so something had to be done. Through my mother I got in touch with my doctor in the states, explained the situation and provided my blood sugars. He recommended that I should go in to a British health clinic, so I called 999 (the British equivalent of 911) and they were able to put me in touch with a health clinic that was open at 3 in the morning.

Getting there was a problem, as I have no car while I'm here. I briefly contemplated the ambulance, but on the advice of the medical center I opted for a cab instead - far cheaper, and it wasn't an immediate emergency anyway.

So after a brief ride in a cab, I found myself in the waiting room of a British Health Clinic at roughly four in the morning. The staff was very kind, they checked my keytones as well as my blood sugar and concluded that it must have been something I ate. The Doctor on call gave me a few tablets of Prochlorperazine (an anti-nausea drug), told me to come back if it didn't work and sent me on my way. On my way out, I asked the receptionist if there was any paperwork I needed to fill out. She said no, and called a cab to take me home. The final bill for this early-morning doctor's visit? 10 pounds for a two-way cab journey. I think we Americans need to take another look at this Socialized Medicine thing...

One term down...

Strange as it feels to be saying this, Hilary term is essentially done for me. I finished my last essay for Homer on the 22nd and just had my last tutorial in Latin yesterday. Maarit said her report on me was going to be "great," so I'm not too worried about that, although I am a little curious to see what great will translate to in letter-grade form (Oxford doesn't give out grades in the form of A's-F's, so our tutors write reports and give them to our academic advisor here who translates them into American system). So I suppose for the foreseeable future, I've got a lot more time on my hands. This may be slightly deceptive however, as, for me, an empty schedule looks something like this:

• Get started reading a couple dozen Greek Tragedies for next term.
• Begin doing research for my senior thesis next year (and quickly! my Bodleian Library card expires on the 13th).
• Revise 2 of the 5 essays I wrote for Homer, as Maarit was kind enough to let me fine tune some of the less-perfect ones.
• Read Adrienne Mayor's The Poison King.
• Continue reading Sallust - and perhaps some Ovid - in Latin.
  
• Attend lectures - tutorials may be over, but they aren't.
• If possible, see "Percy Jackson and the Olympians." I never read the book, but given my major, I think it's kind of obligatory for me to see any movie that prominently features the Olympian gods. And hey, it looks like it could be fun.
• Attend a trip to Bath this Saturday.
• Start planning where I'm going to be traveling over Spring Break.
  

So, needless to say, I'm rather busy. Nevertheless, my schedule is a lot less full than it was at the height of the semester, when during the middle of the week I would spend the entire day (after lectures) at the Library, and late in the week and on weekends I would write essays. Despite my griping, however, I really like the tutorial system. The tutorials themselves were always fascinating, as we were able to get really indepth with the material, and it's nice to have someone with whom to discuss Classics (I generally liked to avoid inflicting a conversation about Greece and Rome on my friends who have other interests). Furthermore, now that I've finally read Homer, I feel I have a stronger foundation in Greek literature than I would otherwise. So on the whole, I think I learned a lot this term, and am very glad that I'm going to be here for the next one.

True Confessions of a Bibliophile

Note to self: I should never be allowed inside Blackwell's Books unsupervised. When I got done with my first lecture today, it was 11, so I still had an hour to kill before going to see Maarit for the tutorial. I briefly considered going to the Ashmolean, but having been there several times already it seemed a bit old. So I decided to browse (just browse, not buy!) Blackwell's for a half hour before grabbing lunch and going to the tutorial. I should have known better. With five floors and hundreds of thousands of books (they cite the basement alone as having 160,000 volumes), Blackwell's has the look and scale of a Barnes and Noble without losing the charm of a small-town bookshop.

So I get in there, and of course I head straight to the second floor, the location of their classics section. Now, most of my non-classicist readers will probably not be aware of this, but the classics section of most bookshops is tiny. Maybe two bookshelves, if you're at one of the huge Barnes and Nobles. That's certainly enough to cover most of the original texts, and maybe a few modern authors, and of course you can always order whatever book isn't there. I can't help feeling a little crestfallen, however, whenever I try to browse classics in the states, only to find that my browsing space is smaller than a broom closet.

Not so at Blackwell's. Fully half of the second floor is devoted to Classics, with complete collections of Loebs (Oxford-published Greek and Latin texts with facing translation) and Oxford Classical Texts (same thing as Loebs, but without the facing translation), as well as virtually every translation I could want and every commentary, historical analysis and biography I could think of. If the Sackler library weren't five minutes away this would likely be the best collection of classical sources in Oxford. I think the way I put it to Brett is best: I'm a Classics Junkie and Blackwell's is like crack - expensive, addictive and a mind-blowing experience.

So as I was saying, I get in there, and I start browsing. I come across the Oxford Classical Text of Ovid's love poems (specifically, the Amores, Ars Amatoria, Medicamina Faciei Femineae and the Remedia Amoris). Now, I by no means am at the level where I could breeze through those poems in Latin the way I could in English - far from it. But...it's Ovid! At first I tell myself no, that I won't have time to read it, that I'm already quite busy enough with papers and Sallust. But I keep coming back to it. So finally I surrender to temptation and buy it. thirteen and a half pounds. I'm a bad person.

I go to my tutorial, and that goes very well. Maarit really likes my essay. There are a couple of points we quibble over, but on the whole, she really likes it and thinks I demonstrate a strong understanding of the topic. As background material for the next two papers she wants me to read Hesiod ("Theogeny" and "Works and Days"). Now, I theoretically could go to the Library at St. Cat's college and just borrow it, but to my mind Hesiod is an important enough author that I really should have a copy. So I go back to Blackwell's. At this point you're probably saying to yourself "Oh dear, Jan's gone and spent another thirteen and a half pounds in addition to the thirteen and a half he already spent just a few hours ago." Well it isn't that bad. Thankfully the volume I chose was very slender and a paperback. Blackwell's also was having a "buy-one-get-one-free" deal for this edition, so I was able to walk away with the works of Hesiod that I needed, as well as a volume containing Antigone, Oedipus and Electra for a grand total of eight pounds. So I'm not too horrible, right?

epigraphy

Yesterday at the Sackler Library I made a discovery which truly reminded me why it is a classics library; I was in the bathroom and happened to glance at the walls, only to discover that the graffiti which covers the walls of every Mens Room was here written in Latin. Amused, both by the thought of contemporary Latin graffiti and by the content of said graffiti, I couldn't resist taking pictures, as well as doing a brief literary analysis...of the things written on shit-house walls:

For those who aren't familiar with the phrase, this is a rearrangement of Caesar's famous quote "I came, I saw, I conquered" - it now says "I saw, I conquered, I came," which I believe is cleverly playing on the sexual double-meaning of "to conquer" and "to come." It thus turns Caesar's laconic quip about war into an equally laconic description of a tryst. The other example of Post-Modern Classical Graffiti is far less ambiguous, however.

I apologize for the quality of this picture, but the writing was in pencil. It's far clearer in person. The script reads "Hic caccavit bene..." which roughly translates as "I had a good shit" (literally "this one shat well"). Interesting to note is the irregular spelling of the word "cacavit," a fascinating example of the non-standardization of spelling in the Post-Modern Classical academic world.

These two examples of lavatory artwork give us a stunning insight into the obscene nature of men from this era, for even the highly-educated elite find themselves scribbling obscenities into the walls of the water-closet. Such details of life in the early 21st century give nuance and flavor to even the most prestigious academics and help remind us why we study Post-Modern Classical Academia.

Earl Grey

While I was downing my second cup of it today, the question occurred to me, what is with this damn island and tea? When I lived in the states I might have tea once a week, if that. However from the moment I entered the United Kingdom, I've felt an undeniable attraction to this strange mixture of hot water and dried leaves.* Is it something in the water? Is it as my housemate Brett suggested and the British put a copious quantity of cocaine in their Earl Grey? Could there be an allele in the DNA of all people of English descent (including me - my mother's family's from York) that causes them to become tea junkies the moment they set foot on English soil? I don't know. All I do know is that since I got here I've been sipping my way through two cups a day. My favorite brand so far is Yorkshire Tea (appropriate, given my ancestry), which sells at Sainsbury's for 2.37 and comes with 80 teabags. At this rate, it's a good thing I'm buying in bulk.

*ok, so maybe "from the moment I entered the United Kingdom" is a slight exaggeration, but you get my point.

Castles and Cavaliers and Cannons, Oh My!

Two days ago the OPUS (Oxford Program for Undergraduate Studies, the study abroad program at Oxford) students took a field trip to Broughton Manor and to Warwick Castle and so I've created a bit of a slide show with some interesting commentary. I'm focusing mainly on Broughton Manor, since, as our Program Director Deepak said, it is more charming and less touristy, although Warwick is more historically significant. I will include some of the less commercialized photos from Warwick though.

The outer lawn of Broughton Manor. If I recall correctly, this was used in one of the scenes in Shakespeare in Love.

The Great Hall of the Manor. Apparently this is part of the original building and served as the living area and bedroom for most of the hangers-on of the Lord and Lady.

The wood paneling in the main dining room. It's hand done to resemble folded cloth and was really quite impressive. Before it was put up, the room, attached to the great hall, was originally the stores for the manor. It's located right below the bedroom of the Lord so that he could keep an eye on his stores in winter.

Queen Anne's Bedroom. Early in the reign of James I, him and his wife, Queen Anne of Denmark were touring Britain to acquaint themselves with the nobility and stayed at Broughton Manor for one night. This is the room that she stayed in. Apparently at that time, the nobility only slept inthe same bed as their spouses if they were seeking to be intimate. Makes the prospect of coitus a bit public for my tastes, but to each his own. It's ironic for me to criticize the practices, since it was probably a holdover from Roman times and I am a Latinist, but there you have it. As an aside, none of the furniture is original: in the 1800's, the Saye family had a member (pictured to the right) who was quite a spendthrift and who sold off all the Manor's furnishings. It was only at the beginning of the 20th century that the family was wealthy enough to refurnish it with different antiques. So unfortunately, while the room pictured is the one where Queen Anne slept, that is not the bed on which she slept, nor the sheets, etc.

This, meanwhile, is the bedroom in which King James I slept. Those of you who think that the columns and statuary are either far too old or too new to have been there in James' time are correct - if I recall from the tour, it was put in in the late 1700's or early 1800's and depicts dryads dancing around an oak tree.

What I found most amazing of all is the fact that the bed, which is extremely new in it's styling actually goes quite well with the sculpture and the green sylvan wall paper; very airy and pleasing to the eye. It's one of the few modern stylistic choices I've seen which I actually like.

This is the charter for Broughton Manor, signed and sealed by Henry VIII. Off screen to the right is another royal document which I neglected to photo, a pardon from King Charles II to the Saye family for having been involved in the parliamentary side of the English Civil War which saw the beheading of his predecessor, King Charles I. Speaking of the English Civil War:

A portrait of Oliver Cromwell. Cromwell never visited Broughton Manor, but the Manor was the location of many meetings by Parliamentary forces in the years leading up the the war, and later on the subject of a battle which the royalists won - hence the cannon balls pictured below, which were dragged out of the moat a few years ago. There's also the even-further-below picture of Cromwell: I took this photo not so much because of Cromwell, but because of the figure seated next to him - his Latin secretary, who would translate his

dispatches to foreign rulers into Latin. This saved the expense of having a translator for every language in Christendom - it was far easier for everyone to have a Latin translator who was also fluent in the local language. By the way, the identity of Cromwell's Latin translator? A certain John Milton. Yes, the John Milton.


After visiting the room in which the Parliamentary forces met, we stepped out through a door onto the roof. It's telling that they have no qualms about leaving the doors open - I'm not joking when I say that the temperature inside is actually colder than it is outside.

The British countryside, as viewed from the parapet of the Manor. The animals in the distance are sheep. One of the sights that really makes me appreciate rural England.

The gardens on the estate. I took this shortly before we left. As you can probably tell, they were simply gorgeous. If it weren't for the cold, I could see myself enjoying quite a lot of time there.

And just for laughs, here's me with a many-centuries old spear. When I saw people messing around with them, I just knew I had to do what I could to strike the pose of a Greek Hoplite. Okay, so my Hoplon is technically a backpack, but I improvised with what I had on hand, and you know that I was more than ready to drive those pesky Persians out of Hellas.

Guy's tower, as viewed from the exterior of the castle. This proved to be one of the more impressive features of the Castle, with a height which allowed it easily to view the entirety of the city of Warwick.

The next few images are all taken from the top of Guy's Tower:



Anyone interested in seeing the rest of the photos can check out the facebook album.