I’m honoring a request to post more draft material. I’m posting (reposting) the drunk, Easter ramble, which I had reverted to draft status to spare you. If you choose to read it, you will learn important historical facts (or get put to sleep by what you already or don’t already know) and other useless information. None of it is really all that useless, at least for me; I’m going to use bits of it here and there someday. The history is pretty important, regardless, partly because some of us probably wouldn’t be alive had some of the events not occurred, though a lot of people aren’t alive because they did. Also, what you find might even cause you to ponder. Or shrink back in disgust. Or both.
I don’t remember the last time I drank wine. I bought a bottle on Friday and opened it about an hour ago, now that I’m back home from a weekend of quality Easter family time. I could have used the wine yesterday. That said, all-in-all the visit was really great.
Conversations with my dad are always fascinating and educational. He brings up the weirdest topics any chance he gets. I wish I could get inside his brain. So far, I haven’t discovered anything he doesn’t know or hasn’t considered.
A few conversations had in the last couple of days:
I learned that the Vikings tried to take over France and were offered the north end of the country as a bargaining chip. The deal was accepted and the land was named Normandy since the Vikings were from up north. So modern-day Normandy has deep Scandinavian roots. Then a few generations after this take-over/offering, one of the Normans, a descendant of Rollo (the Viking who acquired the French territory) and therefore the latest Duke of Normandy, decided to take over England, which he did. William the Conqueror, the Norman who acquired England, thus became King William, giving birth to a new English monarchy. So modern-day England has strong French/Scandinavian roots. Norman roots.
I don’t remember learning any of that in school—I was probably off in my head somewhere trying to stay awake—so it’s a good thing I have my dad to teach me random bits of knowledge. I’ll tuck this bit under my hat for my thesis on humanity. The study is a personal project in development.
On the way to buy Easter-Bunny goods, my brother and I discussed the judicial process and how neither of us understand why anyone would not want to have jury duty. My brother recently held up deliberations because he was the only person on a six-person panel to vote “not guilty.” His argument was valid. I didn’t get the opportunity to serve because I was dismissed. The prosecutor didn’t like my response to her question, which had something to do with reasonable doubt. My argument was valid, too. My brother didn’t go through a selection process, he was told to be a juror, and though his case was completely different, his argument was pretty much the same as mine.
He and I are both right. Of course.
Last night, while looking up random shit online, like which dog is the deadliest (Someone had brought up a recent pit bull attack that was on the news, and the never-ending debate over whether pit bulls are too dangerous to have as pets ensued), or whether the number of deaths by spiders out-number the number of deaths by tigers each year (not sure why that came about…tigers win by the way), someone brought up Edgar Allan Poe, and the conversation turned to “If you were going to kill someone, how would you do it so that you wouldn’t get caught?”
All of which stemmed from an article I was reading and then read aloud about a research project that a professor did on why cannibals became man-eaters in the first place. Part of his research involved measuring the caloric value of different parts of the human body, which, surprisingly, or maybe not surprisingly, determined that the brain and heart are two of the least nutritious parts of the body.
That is also going in my thesis.
This morning my dad asked me what I thought the suffix some means. Which led to a flood of ideas over toast and coffee about how the word handsome came about.
Then he and my mom drove to church and my crew drove three and a half hours south. Maybe four.
And now I’m sitting on the couch with a glass of wine, intoxicated and content. Writing to the World. Writing to You. Typing happily on my clunker.
. . . . . .
And it all went downhill from there.