It is a beautiful day in Chicago today. So naturally I am sat inside an Einstein’s Bagels at the University of Chicago campus while my friend is working at her cancer research lab dissecting mice and saving lives (I seem to have a disproportionate amount of friends in the sciences, in great contrast to the frippery that is the Classics), while I am begrudgingly translating Tyrtaeus (or trying to, but not very hard), and surreptitiously judging the people buying hazelnut lattes.

Now that I’m no longer applying to UCLA or Berkeley because the way their fellowship works precludes me from ever getting any money from them, ever (the prof at Berkeley I wanted to work with called my advisor up and told him that their fellowship depends on you getting California residency after one year, which, as a foreign student, I am never going to get, and I will think of that as the reason they rejected me and not because I don’t know any Latin), U of C is my top choice for grad school when I finish with Vanderbilt.

SPRING BREAK! WHOO!

Your mom’s dead, I hate your sister, let’s get it on.

I hear the Percy Jackson books are fine Young Adult fiction, and not having read them, I am in no way able to contradict this assertion. However, Medusa looking at an iPhone? Kill me now.

Doesn’t matter. We’re going to go see it tomorrow anyway, more out of a masochistic exercise than anything (best done with plenty of alcohol, like most things), because it’s what a classics major does—gets really excited when anything vaguely classical gets mentioned, but is eventually disappointed by how much they will inevitably balls it up. Like Troy. Oh, sweet Jesus, Troy.

παρθένον δ’ ἐν ἄνθεσιν
τηλεθάεσσι λαβὼν ἔκλινα, μαλθακῇ δὲ μιν
χλαίνῃ καλύψας, αὐχὲν’ ἀγκάλῃς ἔχων,
δείματι παυσαμένην τὼς ὥστε νέβρον εἱλόμην
μαζῶν τε χερσὶν ἠπίως ἐφηψάμῃν,
ᾗπερ ἔφηνε νέον ἥβης ἐπήλυσιν χρόα·
ἅπαν τε σῶμα καλὸν ἀμφαφώμενος
λευκὸν ἀφῆκα μένος, ξανθῆς ἐπιψαύων τριχός.

Taking the girl, I laid her down among the blooming flowers
covering her with my soft cloak, holding her neck with my arm,
and when she stopped, afraid like a fawn,
I won her over, reaching for her breasts gently with my hands,
her fresh skin approaching prime age,
and when I was touching that beautiful body all over
I sent forth my white force, while I was caressing her golden hair.

Archilochus, Cologne Epode

Usually Xiu Xiu’s music only works for me at very particular times, but this? Is working for me.

tristn:

Xiu Xiu - Ceremony

This is the worst vacation ever! I am going to cut open your forehead with a roofing shingle!—that minor tantrum from “I Broke Up” is probably Xiu Xiu’s most famous line. Indeed, the lyric gets to the core of the group’s confrontational, self-obsessed music. Xiu Xiu tries their damnedest to be weird, shocking, victimized, worthless, revolting, etc.—which often works when they have a bunch of noise and electronics to drown out the screaming. But you already know this and we don’t listen to Xiu Xiu much for this reason.

Anyway, here’s Xiu Xiu murdering the New Order classic, and I’m quite fond of it. The band put out a song called “Ian Curtis Wishlist”, so I get the sense that this cover is as hostile as it is sincere. Thus, where Joy Division robotically confined themselves to musical rigidity and emotional restraint, Xiu Xiu blows up the song, cramming as much dissonance and malfunction as possible. In a way, this is the flipside of the kind of disorder that JD obsessed over: “she’s lost control” becomes “let’s lose control”. It’s tempting to psychologize this take on the song—how fucking emo and Generation Y of them! Personally, I’m left struggling with the paradox of the group: If screaming is your way of showing that you are sincere and have something to say, then why do you scream all the time?

Rome’s Ancient Aqueduct Found

The long-sought source of the aqueduct that brought clean fresh water to ancient Rome lies beneath a pig pasture and a ruined chapel, according to a pair of British filmmakers who claim to have discovered the headwaters of Aqua Traiana, a 1,900-year-old aqueduct built by the Emperor Trajan in 109 A.D.

Spartacus: Blood and Sand

More like Spartacus: Blood and SUCK, am I right More like Spartacus: Blood and SWEET JESUS! NAKED LADIES, am I right? Unfortunately, the show is balls of the highest order. It’s not even dumb fun the way 300 was; in fact, this looks like 300 on a tight budget. A very tight budget. The acting was atrocious, the sets were cheap-looking, and the CGI hurt my face.

I loved the disclaimer in the beginning that said that the violence, language, and sexual activity on the show was supposed to be faithful to what the Romans and surrounding peoples did. As if it was really necessary to have the Thracians go around saying ‘cunt!’ all the time.

I can let the historical inaccuracies pass (I’m not really up to speed on my Roman history anyways); it usually gets shunted into oblivion for the sake of drama and whatnot in these sorts of things. But with all that, the drama is sorely lacking, and the storytelling just isn’t compelling. And all the gratuitous swearing and sex made it feel like it was a wish-fulfillment type of deal written by a teenager. The swearing isn’t even done well, and the violence looks cheap. After the first episode, I don’t really care about any of the characters (hell, I don’t even know their names), or what happens to them. Not even full frontals or Lucy Lawless can make me watch this show again.

OK, maybe booze. Lots of it.

• The LOLcat Bible
• thingsthatlooklikecocknballs.com
• thingsthataredoingit.com