I am reading Herodotus, which, I am happy to report, has been quite fun. So far, I have learned two very important lessons: 1. Oracles are tricky tricksters and misinterpreting them often leads directly to death and destruction, and 2. Women are very, very dangerous, and their mere presence often leads directly to death and destruction. It helps that oracles were often women, so basically you can just apply the second lesson and be done with it.
Suddenly, I am suspicious of myself.
Also, I have learned from Herodotus that potheads are as old as time: Scythians used to take hemp and cast it on to hot stones, which, Herodotus tells us, "gives off smoke and a vapor...the Scythians in their delight at the steam bath howl loudly." Did they also suddenly crave olives and pita bread? Because if so, they sound exactly like boys I knew in high school.
Monday, June 21, 2010
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
hobnobbery.
A couple nights ago, my parents took me to a party. I really enjoy "adult" parties my parents take me to, because "adults" are, in my experience, much friendlier than people my own age. Friends of my parents friends also tend to be much more interesting than people my own age. Not only that, but the alcohol and food at "adult" parties is way, way better than anything you can find at a party thrown by anyone in their late twenties.
The party I went to a couple nights ago was nothing special, as far as these things go, but it ended up being quite memorable. Somehow, I found myself having a very interesting discussion with a woman who writes for Slate. That was cool enough in and of itself, until she then introduced us to her equally interesting husband, who, I later discovered, had won a Nobel Prize. Then, to top it all off, she asked me for my email address. Why? Because her son lives in DC, and she thinks he and I should really meet for drinks.
Conversations like this do not happen to me. Ever. And unfortunately, this one occurred when I was already on my fourth glass of wine, which means that it is somewhat tainted in my memory by an alcoholic haze. However, I woke up the next morning and my mother, who was present for the whole exchange, confirmed that it had, in fact, taken place. Otherwise, I'm pretty sure I would have thought I dreamt it all up.
The party I went to a couple nights ago was nothing special, as far as these things go, but it ended up being quite memorable. Somehow, I found myself having a very interesting discussion with a woman who writes for Slate. That was cool enough in and of itself, until she then introduced us to her equally interesting husband, who, I later discovered, had won a Nobel Prize. Then, to top it all off, she asked me for my email address. Why? Because her son lives in DC, and she thinks he and I should really meet for drinks.
Conversations like this do not happen to me. Ever. And unfortunately, this one occurred when I was already on my fourth glass of wine, which means that it is somewhat tainted in my memory by an alcoholic haze. However, I woke up the next morning and my mother, who was present for the whole exchange, confirmed that it had, in fact, taken place. Otherwise, I'm pretty sure I would have thought I dreamt it all up.
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