Penny for your thoughts

“Coins and Monumentality in the Roman Empire, A.D. 70-250″. THRILLING UPDATE in TEN OR TWELVE ASSORTED PAGES.

Well. You know. THRILLING is relative to CORN DRYERS whose honour I will, in fact, protect. What I have done is spend handfuls of minutes staring intently at the back of a penny, seeking out Lincoln in all of his tiny glory. Yes. One tinfoil hat away from finding secret code in the shrubbery and playing connect-the-latin on the front of a dollar bill. (It’s educational, in that they “honored” or “plagiarized” Roman prototypes to make said coinage, which is cool, although there’s definitely a coin out there with a Serapis-headed serpent riding the back of a stallion and really, that’s worthily bad-ass. Maybe a quick series with Obama and the lightsaber? Just this once?)

Education! Ain’t it grand.

(Last essay. Last. Essay. Well, two thousand words in five hours to go, but still. Last essay!!!)

Extinction is futile

Finnish heavy metal all-dinosaur rock band. For children.

WORTH THE JETLAG.

Baa humbug

Reports of the sheep death by the snow seem to have been exaggerated. As has the threat of winter, as Oxford is now back to an appropriate state of damp, and mittens are not warranted even for longer excursions.

However! There is still, say, a fiftieth of the milk there should be. Mainly it is large, bulky containers, each of which is about the size of half a cow, i.e. monstrously impractical. WHAT WILL THE TEA BE WITHOUT MILK? Also, why, in an island the size of a sneeze, is this so difficult? There are actual dairymen here, and I am not making this up, with glass bottles and morning delivery. Yet none of them are marketed to college accomodations, where one might assume the price willing americans would shell out for a) quaint, b) environmentally friendly and c) dear lord skim milk, would be high.

Options: getting the Brasenose unicorn to shepherd in some cows; stealing the Christ Church Meadows ruminant herd. It’s about priorities, people.

Good move!

Some of you may be aware that Britain mostly looks like this:

You may think, why, that is a silly way of storing the bikes, and what a lovely protective layer of igloo they have upon them. Whyever is the snow still on the streets, and on the sidewalks, and the alleys of fair Oxon?

ANSWER:

Under current legislation, householders and companies open themselves up to legal action if they try to clear a public pavement outside their property. If they leave the path in a treacherous condition, they cannot be sued.

I am not making this up.

John McQuater, president of the Association of Personal Injury Lawyers, admitted: “If you do nothing you cannot be liable. If you do something, you could be liable to a legal action.”

Society: you’re doing it wrong!

This is just ridiculous

BREAKI-News? Is this even news? Are there sheep psychics?

Snow stories: sheep have ‘forgotten how to cope with snow’.

As a note, Sainsbury’s is down to a few quarts of Organic Milk of the Whole Variety, and people have even begun bravely biking down slushy streets the wrong way. WE STILL MIGHT DIE OR AT LEAST GET MINORLY COLD.

Words of wisdom

First, there are actual snow drifts in this part of England, unless it’s actually just an ingenious use of sheep in piles to warm the city. Possible!

Second, this is amazing. How to ride a pony! Because ponies? They are kick-ass.

Key quote:

Jesus: the gap year debate

Breaking news: Jesus! And the Druids!

‘That is when he was around the age of 12 and went to the temple and astounded the learned experts with his knowledge. One could speculate he had just come back at that point.’

Alternatively, he may have made the visit when in his teens or 20s and used his earnings as a carpenter to fund it.

If I were to tango, post application of whiskey, and then foxtrot, on top of Stonehenge’s pillars it would be slightly less odd than this.

What? What’s that?

Mr Harrison said there were ‘no archaeological finds’ to back up the myth, but ‘by exploring the legend, we are opening up a fascinating new insight into early Christianity’.

New! Sharks Ate The Roman Empire! CLEOPATRA AND BAT BOY HAVE A LOVE CHILD PAGE 39!

Chicago, the New Age, but what would Frank Lloyd Wright say?

Really, it’s hardly even jetlag- a hop, a skip or a jump across to the Windy City. Or, more accurately, the blizzard-ravaged city whose towers are even now shrouded in fog and the dark of night. I don’t have pictures, really, of any of this. A couple shots of the Milton quote in the fairy tale of the Tribune tower, a couple of glances out of a window double times what d.c. could ever boast.  I remember the city covered in schooners full of snow; the swirl of single malts at the Gage down by the park with the museums all lined up in a row.  For once I had phone calls to remind me that I have a home to come back to. And yet again, the stilettos were packed up for reasons of inclement weather. One of these days, I will dance in a museum or on ruins and come out smiling.

For those wondering, I was out on an externship at chicago.decider.com, where I learned that even if you put a jetlag addict into an office, she’ll find a way to escape back to potsherds. A byline or two was had, which is beyond exciting. It also means that I have things to consider for this future of mine, which I have seen through so many security zones and stamps aplenty.

Also, I now know that people can have jobs with titles like “Mixologist” and set green chartreuse and absinthe ablaze. Just because. Oh, and then you drizzle that on top of a silver gin fizz and call it a Neptune’s Wrath. (Chicago’s speakeasy, the Violet Hour, and the magic fingers of Toby Maloney. Go.)