Blogging

Random Harvest – #1: Ancient Sexism, Modern Perversion and a Delightful Scone

As mentioned in yesterday’s post, I found a comment thread on an older posting of that same post that compelled me to write a new post. (Confused? I visit that country every day and my passport is worn out.) In any case, here’s the thread (which is not that long, so no need to become anal about it and click away) wherein the lovely Christi inadvertently triggers me to peel another miniscule layer off my personal onion. The only thing you really need to know is that “Lysistrata” is mentioned in the post, and we go from there. Enjoy.

 

C.J. Hartwell: “Dang, I was hoping someone left a post first so I could see what they’re doing.

As for me, I’m bummed my mother didn’t name me Lysistrata, as that would make for one helluva cool blog where I’d counsel women on what to do, or rather, what NOT to do, until men agree a woman president is the better option. Think of the stats that site would bring! Oh well.

Sorry, nothing to market. This is just me babbling on your comment feed. I know it’s against the rules, but I’m an anarchist.”

 

Me: “Dang, Part Deux. It’s too bad you didn’t jump in with a slight promo since, just as you say, it would break the ice for the others. And I’m not sure why you wouldn’t want to at least briefly highlight your own blog, as people can’t possibly have complete lives unless they visit there at least once. Something short and snappy, such as… “I was meant to be a superhero. All of the signs were there, but the right people didn’t pay attention and I’m not particularly adept at social situations. So, I chose a career in education as my cover job, and at night I discreetly assume my alter ego. I write thoughtful, humorous, engaging pieces that may or may not have a point but it satisfies me to make the attempt. And I usually offer a delightful recipe as a prize at the bottom of my literary cereal box, a recipe that has been tested in my Super Kitchen while inspiring music plays on the soundtrack. Perhaps you could stop by for some tea and a scone and a story?”

See? At least 14 people would hit you up for the scone alone. (Hmm. That last bit reminds me of a Christmas story…)

Anyway, back to Lysistrata, not that you asked to go there. Eons ago in my college days, those last years of almost absolute freedom before reality hits, an off-the-wall-and-I-loved-her French woman who taught the Classical Drama class gave us an assignment to rewrite scenes from Aristophanes’ “Lysistrata” using modern language. The first thing I did was to change the lead female and male character names to “Hole” and “Pole”, which sounds extremely sexist and lewd, and it is, but so was the original play in the Greek sensibility of the time. (And based on your words above, it sounds like you are familiar with the play, so hopefully you get my intention and you’re not rethinking your perception of me.)

My version of the play went off the rails from there, and the quirky French professor was impressed as much as artsy French people allow themselves to be. (She smiled briefly and said “tres bien”.) She eventually cast me in a full read-through of “Hamlet”, with me being the guy who babbled to a skull. So, I can actually say that I’ve played Hamlet in a theatre. Just not on stage.

And now I realize three things. One, this has been fun. Two, I essentially just wrote another blog post and I should save this. And three, maybe I should have structured this thanksgiving post in a way that allows me to chat with everybody individually, just like this. Hmm, Part Deux…”

 

C.J. Hartwell: “Ooh, a beautifully long reply discovered after being without internet and/or access for several days. Sweet!

Thinking I should hire you as my marketing guru, as what you wrote is absolutely brilliant. So I’m stealing it. All I’m lacking is a scone recipe. Must remedy that.”

 

And this, Ladies and Gentlemen, is one of the reasons why I love blogging. It’s not so much what I share (although I do take that quite seriously), but how the sharing leads to obscure branches on the tree of life. And that’s a country I will continue to visit until my passport expires.

 

Cheers.

 

Previously “published”, so to speak, in Bonnywood Manor. No changes made, except for a new into and outro, because I’m just reporting the facts. Something the current White House has never done…

Cheers, Part Deux.

P.S. The photo captures the ancient ruins of a Roman amphitheater in Málaga, Spain. It also captures the very modern feet of a tourist who kept wandering into the shot. I suppose I could have edited that out, but there are a lot of things I should do that I don’t…

 

11 replies »

  1. words, words, words, SCONE, words, words…😂
    A blueberry scone would be wonderful right now🤔

    The community is the reason I love blogging. Its obviously not because I spend much time on my own blog. Tangents are so fun. Great stuff on the side roads in our minds.

    Keep not doing what you should. Life is meant to be fun!💃🏼

    Liked by 2 people

    • I fully understand the waving red flag of a scone. Or any treat, really. I can be having the most serious, life-changing conversation ever, but if somebody walks by with a donut I’m destined to tune out and go for the confectionery glory.

      Yes, the WP community is quite nifty. I wouldn’t still be here if it wasn’t.

      And I simply can’t imagine a life that is not based on fun. We only have so many days. Throw regret and hesitation out the window…

      Liked by 1 person

    • And yet you’ve apparently produced some scholastic books, proving that you can, indeed, expound with your responses. (See? I’m not going to let this apparently subversive authorship of yours go quietly into the night. Until you get sick of me mentioning it, then I’ll look for something else glittery that catches my attention…)

      Liked by 1 person

  2. In blogging its amazing to me how different people have different shades to bring that I miss. Rambling asides often spark an idea that takes you where you had no inkling you’d go to before being redirected by someone else’s comment. People often tell me where to go…

    Liked by 1 person

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