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Showing posts with label trivia. Show all posts
Showing posts with label trivia. Show all posts

Friday Morning Latin Lesson, Vol. LXXXVI

October 8, 2010

I love this time of year. October could be my second favorite month, right behind December (with March coming in third...for obvious hoopy-ball reasons). The colors of the leaves, the hint of winter's chill on the morning's breath, the smells of the world preparing for its slumber...these are all things I absolutely love.

And, of course, October has the first of the end-of-the-year holidays on the calendar; that being Halloween. The Romans did not really celebrate Halloween; that was more of an Irish thing. However, there are connections between some of the Roman beliefs and what we tie in with the holiday in modern times.

For instance, the Romans were also afraid of witches. Pliny the Elder--remember, he who died during the eruption of Vesuvius at Pompeii--wrote "there is no one who is not afraid of spells." With Roman society being a patriarchal establishment, one of the things that the ruling class men feared the most were common women with strong ideas.

As the Romans prized beauty--for both men and women--the easiest way to besmirch the good nature of these women was to make them out to be ugly. Thus, the image of a witch as the hook-nosed crone began to form back in the days of the Roman Empire, though the idea of women casting hexes or spells on creatures or people probably dates back to the very dawn of human imagination.

Since Rome was a powerful military state, it only made sense that those looking to unsettle the base of power would look to strike at society through a non-military method. In other words, the most viable way to take apart the Roman government and hierarchy was to attack it magically. Supposedly, these women had magical powers in the same vein as the witches in modern folklore: potion making, summoning the dead, affecting the elements, changing the weather, influencing the movement of the stars and planets and moon through the night sky. It was even said that they could transmogrify into other forms, most commonly screech owls.

The practice of burning witches at the stake was dreamed up during Roman times, and then spread across Europe and into America in the succeeding centuries. Nero, mad, fiddling Emperor after Cl-Cl-Claudius, was famous for burning his enemies--and he had many--at the stake or, better yet, crucifying them, all under the guise of being magic-users. Witches--especially men thought to be practicing the dark arts--were also thrown into the arenas where they would have to fight wild animals...not quite as gladiators, but they still were pitted against the animals as a bit of political and public sport.

The image of an ugly crone being a witch may have developed during Roman times, but the more classical images we imagine as being tied to witches and witchcraft were more of a northern European image. Roman witches didn't ride on brooms nor did they keep black cats. While they were ugly, the green skin, predilection toward black clothing, the pointy hat, and the hermitic image of a witch was not common in Rome.

Witchcraft was not tied in with the Devil, either (it would be 300 years before those ideas began to really sink into Rome's psyche); instead, because of religious practices deemed "inappropriate" by the state, the worship of both Isis and Bacchus were connected with witchcraft. Therefore, through a few well-timed immolations, the Roman state was able to suppress the worship of gods that the government saw as unfit.

So, if you find yourself suddenly worried about a possible rival and she just happens to be female, you can always try this:

Ea striga est!

Pronounced: "Aye-ah stree-gah est!"

Magical translation in the hovertext.


Such bold claims will, of course, need to be verified, so you better have a back-up ready before you go pointing any fingers and lighting any pyres:

Me mutavit in salamandram...sed convalui...

Pronounced: "May moo-tah-weet in sah-lah-man-drahm...sed cone-wah-louie..."


Slimy translation in the hovertext.


Neopaganism has adopted an ancient Greek goddess as a sort of new patron goddess. The goddess Hecate--who might actually be older than Greece itself--has suddenly been thrust back into the limelight (which she disdained, by the way) as she serves as sort of a focal point of modern witchcraft. Hecate (pronounced "Heck-uh-tee" or "Heck-et"...the latter being introduced by Shakespeare in order to get her name to rhyme properly in verse) was an ancient goddess connected with the moon and night time. She commonly was found at crossroads, and it was Hecate that bishops and cardinals in the middle ages wanted to wipe out by spreading the malicious rumors that crossroads were evil places. She was, in the past, connected with dogs barking in the night, that their barking heralded her arrival. It was also said that she was accompanied in the night by two ghostly dog forms wherever she went.

Her favorite haunts, as I already mentioned, were crossroads, but she especially enjoyed it when three roads came together, and this was where she could most easily be found or contacted. Because of this, she was sometimes referred to in Greek lore as "Trioditis", which means (roughly) "three pathways."

When she made the jump to Roman mythology, she lost the name Hecate but kept the identity of being found at a convergence of three roads. Her name in Latin? Trivia.

Second Place is the First Loser

October 7, 2010

Fresh off last week's showing of second place at Trivia Night, we--my wife, two of our friends, and myself--swept into the bar last night with the cool demeanor of a group of people who wanted--nay, expected--to win. Or, perhaps, it was the demeanor of people who had already had several ales and/or lagers and one who was enjoying that free coke for all it was worth.

Allow me, for a moment, to describe for you the structure of Trivia Night. There are three rounds, each ten questions long, with the first and the third being rounds of general knowledge. The middle round has a theme. Also, usually, the final five questions in the third round carry a theme, with the last question being "what do the previous four answers have in common?"

The theme for the second round last night? Star Wars.

*triumphant blaze of trumpets*

Milk me, baby, because we're in the barn!

Now to be completely candid, I was a touch nervous coming into the second round. What if these were painfully obscure question, like what actor played Saesee Tiin or what planet did the Trianii originate from. My friends had been so excited, so sure that I was our "Star Wars ringer" that I was beginning to feel the pressure and, while I wanted--nay, expected--to win, I also wanted to crumple to the floor, curl into the fetal position, and weep.

However, as the questions began rolling, I knew there would be no problems. From the first question (What was the name of the Wookiee's home planet?) to Who led the rebel fleet into the Battle of Endor to What character did Kenny Baker play in all six of the Star Wars movies, the round got further and further in the bag. I am nothing if not pedantically nerdy when it comes to Star Wars. And Latin. And, well, Christ...everything else. *sigh*

As it turns out, we got a perfect score in the second round. One of only two teams to do so. Fucking. Aye. I should be ashamed, but I'm not.

Our perfect score vaulted us into a three-way tie for the lead, which we then salted away in the end by capturing nine of a possible eleven points. Victory was ours, and we did not need a sudden-death bonus round in order to capture it this week. We were granted the $50 worth of credit toward our tab, which we split evenly between the four of us. This meant that my wife and I paid five dollars for our dinners, drinks, and desserts.

Oh, and the final questions from the third round, in which there is a mini-theme running? The theme was Greek and Roman mythological names (also the names of moons of Saturn, but...meh). Unfortunately, we could not remember the name of Holden Caulfield's younger sister from Catcher in the Rye (Phoebe). It matters not the margin of victory so long as victory was achieved. AmIright???

So, yes, I may be a Star Wars nerd, but my two offspring prove that--despite my geeky shortcomings--I have in fact seen a boob and that I have in fact gotten laid. At least twice. And almost a third time. *shifty-eyed*

I was a tad disappointed, however, that my team vetoed my idea for a team name and, instead, came up with "Grand Muff Tarkin". My idea? "Han shot first across Leia's face". *sigh* Star Wars and sex! How can you go wrong?

Victory, Motherfuckers!!!

September 30, 2010

My wife pointed out to me last night that it's been a week and a half since I committed any thoughts to electronic media, at least in any sort of meaningful fashion. *makes dismissive jacking off motion* So. Hi. How are you?

Normally there'd be a long and wordy bunch of half-hearted excuses about being busy and life catching up with me and references to anal sex here, but I'm not really in for that today. I'm sorry, but my thighs are positively aquiver with joy because, this morning, I am SO full of win--but not Wynn, unfortunately (you know, because she's like hot and stuff).

Last night my wife and I went out with some friends to Trivia Night down at ye olde Irishe Pubbe here in heart of the Bulle Citye. It was a sort of date night thing. We sat and had some dinner (by the way, don't get ye olde pattye melte because it ye olde suckes) and my wife enjoyed a beer while I took full advantage of those free refills on coke, so much so that, by the end of the competition, my back teeth were floating.

We were then joined by our friends, and the trivia started flowing. Did you know that "trivia" is Latin for "three roads coming together"? That's the kind of shit you need to know for Trivia Night.

Lo and behold, we even had a Latin question! Though, it was rather anticlimactic because it was "What is the Latin motto for the United States Marine Corps?" My wife was all over that because, you know, Latin degree and she gets a little warm underneath for men in uniform with great arms.

HOWEVER, I nailed the very first question thanks almost solely to the Friday Morning Latin Lessons. The question: "Who died on August 16th, 1977 shortly after a game of racquetball?" Thanks to the afore linked Latin Lesson, I knew the answer to the question. Fucking. Aye.

Unfortunately, I talked myself out of knowing a question about Trotsky, and I wasn't sure where Berlin was in relation to Rome and the direction west, otherwise we would have won. That's right. We ended up in second place, one point behind the winning team. However, we tied with someone for second, and so there was a "lightning round". The question: what are the ten words in the English language with the most definitions in the Oxford English Dictionary. Thanks to Bill Bryson, I (and my friend Tristan), knew "set" and Tristan's wife offered "go". We won the round, two to nothing and secured for ourselves $25 in credit toward our tab for the night.

But wait, there's more!

In one of the bonus rounds--questions asked to the general populace in between the main rounds--I won...again! Last time I went, I scored a sweet Yuengling shirt. This time? A shirt and an insect transformer for my kids, some pencils and a family day pass to the local museum, along with a bright orange backpack sort of thing. All-in-all is all we are an excellent night of trivial victory. And even today, my thighs are dripping with victory and useless knowledge.

And because it's Thursday, we can't go without a little TMI, am I right? Fuck you, of course I am.

When we got in the car, my wife and I were still glowing with victory and happiness because we actually socialized with another couple! Thanks to my knowledge of geography (minus relative westerly positions of European capitals), my wife was very proud of me. In fact, she turned to me and said, laying a hand upon my thigh:

"I'm so proud of you, if I wasn't having my period right now, I'd take you home and fuck your lights out."

...

*shakes an angry fist at the moon*

Ah well, we can't all be winners all the time.

Underappreciated Trivia

August 16, 2010

Yesterday, I went to Kroger to pick up some ingredients for dinner. It was a short trip (thankfully) and, fortunately for me, I had just few enough items that I could slip into the express lane. There, I discovered that the Checkout Girl and the Deli Hag were having a spat.

The Deli Hag--a waspish, withered form of a woman who, prior to her two-pack-a-day habit and her tanning bed addiction may have been somewhat attractive in that train-wreck sort of way--was vehemently denying that the Checkout Girl had found a bone in her sandwich. The Checkout Girl, knowing what she had sunk her teeth into, stood her ground against the grotesque shade from behind the meat counter.

Compounding this argument was the fact that Deli Hag was telling Checkout Girl that she couldn't leave when her shift was over, because Deli Hag was going to be leaving then, and they couldn't be down two people on a Sunday, so Checkout Girl was going to have to stick around until someone else showed up.

I didn't quite get the Deli Hag's logic, but I also haven't fried my neurons on cigarette smoke and UV rays.

Finally, it is my turn to get my items rung up, and Deli Hag is clinging to the notion that she could not have possibly allowed a sliver of bone to intrude upon her otherwise perfectly-crafted tuna salad. She is insisting that Checkout Girl must have been eating chicken salad, which was (presumably) made by someone else--someone whose fingers are more apt to toss in spare bone fragments just for shits and giggles.

With a flip of her dry and crackling hair and a parting shot about how Checkout Girl is going to have to wait to leave for the day, Deli Hag slithers away to the tiled wonderland kept behind the deli counter. Checkout Girl turns and heaves a sigh, and then in a tone of voice stilted for no one other than herself to hear, she utters, "I know the difference between chicken and fish, so don't try and tell me what I was eating."

It was at this point that I decided to smooth things over with a little bit of useless trivia. Everyone feels better after getting hit over the head with a wad of useless facts. So, I busted out a beauty that I picked up while reading some books about Shakespeare:

"In the sixteenth century, the Catholic church decided that chicken was fish, so that poultry could be eaten on Fridays," I say, my deadpan voice carrying just the slightest Ferbian accent, because everything sounds more profound when said either A in Latin or B in a British accent, no matter how poorly-rendered.

Checkout Girl stares at me, her eyes opening to a soulless, vapid expanse behind. For a second, I begin to panic, unsure of what she might do now that I've expressed an interesting fact that is both pertinent and potentially undermining to her cause.

"Well, see, it was a piece of bone like this:" She presses her thumbs and forefingers together to make a tiny diamond between the tips of the four digits, "and then it was about this long:" She holds her index fingers about a half-inch apart. "And it was in her tuna salad."

And the fact that chicken and fish were once considered one in the same for reasons of religious rites was never mentioned again.

*sigh*

Stuff

May 7, 2009

I have a bit of a dirty secret that I'm now going to share with you. For the past couple of weeks, I've been cheating on you. I know, I know. Where's the trust, eh, blogosphere? It's just that, every so often, I come across your chest a blog that is spectacular enough, I become--for the lack of a better term--infatuated. I read. And then I get bored because the author only updates once a day, yet the author drips with such a profound exceptionality that I want, nay, need more. The only way to get said fix is to dig through the archives.

This has happened recently.

People, I want you to meet Kristine. She's over there, waiting in the van. Now, originally, I caught a glimpse of her in someone's comments and thought "Holy shit! That looks like my attractive friend, Kristine! I better check this shizz out." Well, it turns out that she isn't my attractive friend Kristine. However, she's now my new attractive friend Kristine! She's smart, she's funny, she puts stuff on her kids' heads and takes pictures, she hates her asshole cats, and, like me, she is a MASTER--or will be someday soon. Unlike me, she will be a MASTER in a field where she can get a job in ten years, whereas I'll be living under a bridge, reciting the periodic table and cursing the far east.

While she's as sarcastic and foul-mouthed as they come *dreamy sigh*, apparently her former blog is even more foul-mouthed, even more sarcastic, and even funnier. Alas, it remains hidden, and since I at least pay lip service to people's desires to remain as anonymous as the internet allows, I have gone looking for it. However, I'm sure it was fantastic, like the Lord of the Rings acted out by ninjas and stuff.

Because awesome oozes from every pore on her body, she's recognized the content and character of this blog with a fabulous award. Behold, the James Frey Award!
She's right, you know. 95% of the stuff here is bullshit. The other 5% is dick jokes and Leelee Sobieski pictures.

So, join Kristine in her van. She drives it around, wanted by the government, and serving as a soldier of fortune. If you have a problem, if no one else can help, and if you can find her, maybe you can hire Kristine to put shit on your kids' heads and take pictures.

Now, Gwentabulous over at Everything I Like Causes Cancer, posted a picture of her naughties yesterday. I'd say "unmentionables", but since I provided a link to the story, that pretty much supersedes "unmentioning", doesn't it?

Anyway, her challenge for today was to not tell a story revolving around shit, semen, sex or something else gross that starts with 's' (hooray alliteration!). Jesus, Gwen, you just knocked out 95% of my arsenal. Good thing I was planning on publically felating Kristine. Wait...

Gwen's challenge was to have us post pictures of our favorite sleeping shirts. I received mine rather recently. So recent, in fact, that it still carries the sweet, sweet smell of victory. Behold, the TRIVIA SHIRT!

Oh, oh, that's not the TRIVIA SHIRT you were expecting, is it? No, my friends. See, I won this shirt the other night when I went to Trivia Night at a local bar with the Comely and Buxom and Ailurophobic Boudicca and her friends from work. See, they had a three-round trivia contest (we placed third), but in between the contests were special mini contests. Do you want to know the question I answered correctly and quickly?

"What disease takes it's name from the Latin for 'bad air;?"


The answer, of course, is "malaria". I emboldened a couple of parts. Since you're here every Friday morning learning conjugations and shit, you know I'm all about the Latin. However, you probably didn't know that I'm all about the tropical diseases. It's true. I work on a "neglected disease" program at my company. I don't want to brag too much--especially since none of my compounds have done shit to the parasite--but we've pretty much taken Sleeping Sickness by the balls, swung it around the room a couple of times, kicked it in the grundle, and then, for good measure, while it's lying there on the floor, we've whipped it out and pissed right in its battered and beaten face. AWESOME!!!

Also, the person who introduced me to Yuengling, that sweet, nectarous lager from Eastern Pennsylvania, reads this blog and I wanted to taunt him with my victory. I'm expecting an email shortly that will read something like "Bastard."

Happy Valentine's Day!!!

February 14, 2009

If you watch Jeopardy like I do, you'll remember that the other night, there was a Final Jeopardy question about the date of a holiday based on it being at the same time of a Roman mating festival or spring festival or something like that. I'll bet the losers are rueful of the fact that they don't read my blog, where they could have learned the answer to the question (or the question to the answer, since it is Jeopardy after all). Ha ha! That's what you get for not reading my blog, losers!

Actually, if I remember correctly, the returning champion that day was pretty effing hot. You're not a loser, baby. Here, let me console you by helping you out of that blouse.

Because of the connection made between Valentine and horny, sex-starved birds made by Chaucer, St. Valentine is the patron saint of birds. He is often symbolized by a bishop holding a rooster. Yes, you read that correctly. St. Valentine is symbolized as a man holding his cock. An erect cock, at that, since the bird is usually standing.

He is also the patron saint of beekeepers. There's nothing sarcastic or snarky to say here. I just thought it was kind of funny. I guess that's why we call each other "Honey" when being cutesy and lovie. Okay, so there's a touch of snark.

As for the iPod situation: thanks to everyone who helped. I ended up following a combination of Gwen and Jidai. I went to the Apple store and set up a meeting at the genius bar. The guy worked on it for 5 or 10 minutes, doing everything I had done to it, except he did it with a Mac. He got the same results I did, so I didn't feel nearly as clueless as I had previously. Turns out, the drive is ruined, so chances are Nimrod didn't want the iPod for whatever reason (as Beckeye suggested). They let me keep it so that I can use it for 10% off a new iPod, which I'll probably get her for her birthday or anniversary or Christmas or Arbor Day or something (so, you know, act surprised when I give it to you). Anyway, many thanks again to everyone who helped, even you people who said they were "no help at all". You gave it the old college try, at least.

Anyway, enjoy yourselves today. My wife has to work tonight, my daughter is having First Reconciliation today, and the Buxom and Comely and Easily Terrified and Desperately Exhausted Boudicca will need a nap between holy rites and work.

Here's the conversation that went down about this:

Boudicca: "I realize it's Valentine's day and all, but I switched with someone to work that night so that she could go and get a nice dinner with her boyfriend and get engaged. I'm sorry."
Me: "Don't worry, lovie. We have plenty of clean towels."
Boudicca: *rolls eyes*

I'm pretty sure I just shattered any chance I had of getting some tonight. Happy Valentine's Day. Feel free to come visit me while I'm sleeping in the backyard.

Happy Thanksgiving

November 27, 2008

Like most of the blogging world, I'm shoving pie in my gob today. Like most of the blogging world, I'm too fucking lazy to post. Like most of the blogging world, I'm relying on a scene from WKRP in Cincinnati, one of the shows I fondly remember from my youth, and their brilliant Thanksgiving special, which will go down in TV lore probably forever. Especially thanks to the internet.

Turkeys are hitting the ground like bags of wet cement. As God as my witness...I thought turkeys could fly.



From my family to yours...or just to you, you lonely, unlovable loser...Happy Thanksgiving. Now, go have some pie.

LooKKKKKKKKKKing BacKKKKKKKKKK

May 6, 2008

Do you remember what you were doing ten years ago, today? I don't remember, either, except that I know I was four days away from graduating from St. Joseph's College. I'll hazard a guess and say that I was drinking beer while on the toilet shitter in the Gallagher 1st middle stall, drinking a beer in my dorm room, Gallagher 117, doing something stupid and druken with partner-in-crime Will Shannon, and probably planning another clumsy, awkward pass at Jamie Bach[1] later in the day. I think I might have also destroyed a phone against the exterior of Gallagher Hall later tonight, and I'm also going to guess that there was, at some point, a drunken trip to the Trail Tree in or Grandma's late in the night for either a Big T Trucker Sandwich or Biscuits and Gravy (and an eggy sandwich if a certain priest-to-be came with us).

The reason for waxing nostalgic is that today is the 10th anniversary of Kerry Wood striking out 20 Astros in Wrigley Field. This instantly put his name on the baseball map and made us all wonder just how many World Series rings he would bring to the North Side of Chicago[2]. Unfortunately, as productive as Wood was/has been striking guys out, he's been just as productive when it comes to injuring himself. Elbows, wrists, shoulders...everything on Wood's body seems to have broken down at some point during his career. Blame Dusty Baker if you want to (and I do), but some of Wood's injuries have been completely non-baseball related, such as injuring himself in a hot tub.

Despite all this, Kerry Wood remains one of my all-time favorite Cubs players. I don't know why, either. Maybe I'm still locked in the nostalgic hope of seeing him achieving his potential. Maybe I keep thinking that some day he'll wake up, hop out of bed and decide that today is the day he's going to strike out 20 batters again (which would be really difficult, since he's been relegated to the bullpen these days). Maybe because his marvelous feat of 20 strikeouts came in those waning days of my college career, when things were looking most hopeful and promising and I had the whole world figured out. Maybe seeing Kerry Wood pitch takes me back to a happy place that I have locked away inside of me. I don't know, but he is, without a doubt, my favorite baseball player. Here in the Triangle, there is a city called Cary and, in Cary, there is a road called Cary Wood Dr. Ever since I saw that, I have looked for an affordable house on Cary Wood Drive, just to say I live there, because that would be so fucking cool, and all because of Kerry Wood.

Wood's career has been one of unfulfilled potential. However, if you look at the recent spate of baseball news and think back, Wood (from Texas and a high-strikeout pitcher) was compared to Roger Clemens (from Texas and a high-strikeout pitcher). It was thought their careers would follow similar paths and Wood would be racking up Cy Young's along with wins and World Series titles. Fortunately--thankfully!--it seems that Wood is nothing like Clemens, as the injury-prone body and extended stays on the DL would point toward a lack of using steroids and HGH, and, well, there doesn't seem to be a string of trashy women with hordes of skeletons stashed in their closets following Wood around.

For all the bad that has surrounded Kerry Wood's career, I'll never forget looking up through my Miller-Genuine-Draft-inspired haze and saying, "Holy shit, Will, this guy's struck out 20 batters. Hand me another.[3]" So, Kerry, here's to you, man. Happy Anniversary.

[1]: In case you were wondering, she looks a lot like the Snorg Tees girl, just with a smaller chest and incisors and a stronger proclivity to wearing knee-high stockings and very short skirts.
[2]: That would be a big, fat 0 and counting...
[3]: Obviously, nowadays, it would be most appropriate to toast Kerry's feat with a 120 Minute IPA from Dogfish Head Brewery, as it's 20% ABW. That's 1% ABW for every strikeout. I can do math, me.

Remembering Charlton Heston

April 7, 2008

In the depths of my Nerdvana from this past weekend, I didn't realize that Charlton Heston had died until my wife told me about it Sunday evening.

I'm not going to talk about what a great actor Heston was, nor will I touch on his political life, but I will say that perhaps my favorite movie he's been in (and his filmography is extensive)was Ben-Hur. In the eighth grade, we watched Ben-Hur in conjunction with my social studies class as the teacher was a huge fan of the Roman Empire, and there were some Roman things in Ben-Hur, I guess. It fascinated me. This was before I really had any idea that there were grand, great stories on film, but this was one of those moments when my mind began to open up to the possibilities of life beyond the Police Academy movies. The movie was just that good, that well-done that I instantly fell in love with it. I've watched it a handful of times since, and always I have the same thoughts on it.

However, Ben-Hur was not my favorite character played by Heston. Oh no. For that, you would have to look to Colonel George Taylor, the astronaut played by Heston in Planet of the Apes. Why this character? you may ask. Simple. Taylor was from Fort Wayne, IN, which is the city I associate with my hometown (more people have heard of Fort Wayne, IN than they have of Markle, IN, which is a sleepy little village about 22 miles south of Fort Wayne). Another notable fictional character from Fort Wayne, IN was Fawn Leibowitz, who was the girl killed in a car wreck in the movie Animal House. While I was still living there, there was an indy band that toured the area from Fort Wayne named Fawn Leibowitz. I suppose that had more drawing power (and was far more humorous) than a band named after George Taylor.

Rest in peace, Mr. Heston. You'll always be remembered for your incredible presence on the screen as well as the trivial fact of one of your character's home towns.