Back of the Cereal Box: things greek

Showing posts with label things greek. Show all posts

Sunday, April 21, 2013

A Literal Measure of Beauty (or — How Many Ships Have You Launched Lately?)

Finally, an objective way to gauge everyone’s appearance!

millihelen (MILL-eh-HELL-en) — noun: the amount of beauty needed to launch a single ship.

Today, Helen of Troy is known as the beauty who launched a thousand ships. Taken as a literal measurement, then, a millihelen would be one-thousandth of a helen, and therefore pulchritude enough to launch one ship. Once you get beyond ships, the math gets complicated. How many millihelens would one need to launch four guys riding two tandem bicycles? Or a VW Thing full of dogs? Or a tricked-out cropduster piloted by Erik Estrada? That’s for the eggheads to figure out, I suppose. There is probably a doctoral thesis somewhere in here.

rossana podesta, launching more than ships in a scene from the 1956 epic helen of troy

Helen, wife to Menelaus and therefore the queen of Sparta, was kidnapped by Paris, a prince of Troy, and we’re told this offence set off the Trojan War. The phrase “the face that launched a thousand ships,” however, doesn’t appear anywhere in the Iliad. No, it’s actually Christopher Marlowe’s 1592 play The Tragical History of Doctor Faustus that first uses that phrase in reference to Helen, who appears as a non-speaking character. In fact, as Wikipedia points out, the Iliad actually notes that 1,186 ships left for Troy: “As such, Helen herself has a beauty rating of 1.186 helens, capable of launching more than a thousand ships.”

There seems to be some disagreement over who invented the word, with some sources crediting mathematician W.A.H. Rushton and others Isaac Asimov. Because Marlowe’s full description of Helen includes that she “launched a thousand ships, and burnt the topless towers of Ilium,” David Lance Goines writes that the arson potential is also important: “If ships launched were the sole measure of beauty, Eleanor Roosevelt and Mamie Eisenhower would emerge, without peer, as the most desirable of women. Marilyn Monroe would not even be in the running. The pyromaniacal inclinations of the toothsome Mamie and Eleanor were, however, imperceptible. They didn't even smoke.” Goines therefore calculates that a millihelen should be beauty enough to launch one Homeric warship and burn down a house. Goines also estimates that those possessing an attohelen of beauty (10^-18 helens) could inspire someone to “light up a Lucky Strike while strolling past a shipyard,” while those possessing a picohelen (10^-12 helens) would be capable of getting someone to “barbecue a couple of steaks and toss an inner tube into the pool.”

And if unusual units of measurement are your thing, know that there is also a unit of measurement called the barn, so there are actual scientific implications to describing something as being “as big as a barn.”

Previous words of the week after the jump.

Sunday, March 24, 2013

Centaurs for Girls!

I’m not saying you’re going to write a fantasy novel one day. That’s up to you. But suppose you do sit down and pen a tale of swords and magic and weird sex, you may want to jump into it prepared with the kind of vocabulary that will endear to your target audience of nitpicking nerds. In advance, you’re welcome.

kentaurides (ken-tar-EE-deez) — noun: the female centaur.

Yep, there’s a special word for lady centaurs, even though they weren’t popular even back in the day. According to Wikipedia, the best-known in Greek mythology was Hylonome, and she’s only known for killing herself when her centaur husband dies in battle. That sets the bar pretty low for female centaurs making something of themselves. Perhaps as a result of not being all that interesting, these figures show up more in art than they do in literature.

second-century mosaic, via wikipedia

seventh-century relief inexplicably depicting medusa as a centaur, via wikipedia

Why would someone decide it would be fun to make Medusa into a centaur? Classical fan fiction, I would guess. A fun thing to note, perhaps: There’s a Wikipedia category for centaurs and another one for fictional centaurs, and not all the pages appearing in the former appear in the latter.

When I think about the logistics of a female version of these randy, barechested horsedudes, it seems logical that there would be a lot of the various geeky media, but I can only think of three off the top of my head. The “Pastoral Symphony” segment of the original Fantasia features some whose brazen toplessness seems surprising, given how the film was released back in 1940. (If Ariel and her type wore clamshell bras, should the Fantasia centaurettes be wearing horseshoe bras?)

And then there’s Golden Axe, a game that’s yielded some interesting bits for word nerds previously on this blog. In the second arcade installment f the game, you could play as a female centaur named Dora, who’s easily the most bad-ass character to get saddled with that name ever, even if her weapon is a weird, American Gladiators-style jousting Q-tip.

via

There’s also centaur Leela in the Futurama fantasy parody episode, but I’m not sure if this is poking fun at the lameness of “busty lady centaur” stock character (is a thing, maybe?) or just assigning Leela a role that’s awkward and unfeminine. Whatever the case (and whatever the fate of the horse-centric literature that will one day provide us all with a window in your psyche), know this much about this fancy new word kentaurides: As is the case with the related word centaur, we are not especially sure where it came from. The centaurs themselves we know come from the drunken, unholy union between stable boy and equine beauty. That’s just common sense biology. The wordy end of it, however, is a bit murkier.

Previous words of the week after the jump.

Tuesday, March 12, 2013

Forms of Telekinesis, in Declining Order of Awesomeness

Telekinesis — from the Greek tele-, meaning “far” or “at a distance,” and kinesis, “movement” — takes many forms, and science has proven that most humans can manipulate something psychically. Alas, most of us are given dominion over something too stupid to be useful, too stupid to even try to bother with. Here are the most common forms, best to worst. (You probably have one of the stupid ones.)

pyrokinesis (ability to manipulate fire with one’s mind)

erotokinesis (ability to manipulate lust)

cryokinesis (ability to manipulate ice)

geokinesis (ability to manipulate the earth)

arachnokinesis (ability to manipulate spiders)

phytokinesis (ability to manipulate plants)

peptokinesis (ability to manipulate digestion)

bovokinesis (ability to manipulate cows)

geronokinetsis (ability to manipulate the elderly)

coprokinesis (ability to manipulate shit — no, literally shit)

lekanokinesis (ability to manipulate dishware)

biblokinesis (ability to manipulate books)

rhinokinesis (ability to manipulate noses)

ulokinesis (ability to manipulate wool)

cosmetikinesis (ability to manipulate make-up)

xenokinesis (ability to manipulate foreigners, which is actually the most

common because we all basically have it)

tyrokinesis (ability to manipulate cheese)

blepharokinesis (ability to manipulate eyelashes)

echinokinesis (ability to manipulate hedgehogs or sea urchins —

not so cool, even for a twofer)

kakopygikinesis (ability to move someone’s ugly ass —

no, wait this might actually be the most useful)

Not listed: hydrokinesis, as it is purely fictional.

How does one get a certain telekinetic power of another? It depends what kind of girl you mother was. How do you know which power you have? Ask your local oracle or any person of Greek descent. They know. Oh yes, they know.

Saturday, November 12, 2011

The Lower Third

For my word of the week: a term for something with which every news-savvy person knows but for which they likely lack a smartypants, make-your-friends-feel-dumb term:

chyron (KAI-ron) — noun: an electronically generated caption superimposed on a television or cinema screen.

Essentially, a chryon is the floating bit of text that tells you the name of whoever is on MSNBC or Fox News or CNN or whatever and why they’re talking on the given subject. Think a boldly colored background, drop-shadowed white text and a euphemism such as “party strategist” or “local man” or “teen abstinence advocate.”

I’m guessing this term chyron also includes the dreaded ticker — that horrible thing that reduces lesser news stories to a Twitter feed with a lesser character count — and anything else that happens to appear in the lower third of a news channel screen.

Mythology buffs might attempt to connect chryon with the similarly named centaur/tutor who managed to repress his lusty urges and educated a who’s-who of ancient Greek heroes. I can’t say that this association is wrong, exactly, and it would make a lot of sense, given the term’s informational associations Chiron’s tendency toward explanation. But I’m not sure the centaur gave rise to the word, because it’s generally assumed that the term came from the Chyron Corporation, which has since 1966 supplied TV broadcasts with supplemental, digital doodads that have allowed viewers to know what the hell is happening. Thus, it’s one of those brands-turned-generic terms, like Kleenex and Q-Tip. However, as near as I can tell, it’s the only word we have for this particular element of TV culture.

Previous words of the week after the jump.

acné excoriée des jeunes filles, adulterine, ageusia, ambeer, anosmia
barrack, beeturia, bissextile, bloofer, breastsummer
catholicon, cecaelia, cephalophore, cherpumple, chilver, cockernonnie, collywobbles, coprolalia, couvade, cranberry morpheme, crwth, culaccino, cummingtonite
deasil, decussate, deuteragonist, dingbat, dingle
eidolon, epeolatry, epopt, espalier, etui, exoterica
fabiform, Feghoot, fissilingual, Föhnkrankheit, folderol, froward
gallinipper, gnaborretni, grandgore, grue, guilloche, gyaru
hippopotomonstrosesquipedaliophobia, hobson-jobson, hogo, honorificabilitudinitatibus
ignivomous, iracund, isabelline, itaiitai
jabroni, jamais vu, jehu, jumentous
kaffir, kakopygian, kayfabe, knipperdollin
lagniappe, leman, lemniscate, limnovore, linsey-woolsey, longicorn
malacia, malison, maroon, milt, mongo, mooncalf, morepork, muzjiks
narrenfreiheit, nef, nihilartikel, nobiliary particle, nosism
ochanee, ogonek, ombré, ooglification, orchidectomy, ordured, orf
pace, padiddle, pareidolia, pavonated, perendiate, perigee, petrichor, pettifogger, pettitoes, phlegmagogue, pismire, pogonip, pong, pruniferous, puggle, pulveratricious, purse
quacksalver, quagga, qualtagh, quidnunc, quiff
ronion, roynish, rubirosa, rumpsprung, runcible
salmagundi, scrutator, seneschal, sharrow, shebang, sinople, slampadato, slubberdegullion, stan, stevedore, suovetaurilia
tappen, teratogenesis, tergiversate, tetromino, thagomizer, thon, tiffin, tittery-whoppet, tmesis, toby, tutoyer, tyro
ucalegon, ultramontane, umiaq, umquhile
veneficial, verdigris, vespertilionine, vinegeroon
weeaboo, widdiful, williwaw, witzelsucht, wooper looper
xenodocheionology, xyster
yazoo, ypsiliform, yoink
zanjero, zenzizenzizenzic, zinnober, zugzwang

Word nerd? Subscribe to Back of the Cereal Box’s word-related posts by clicking here.

Saturday, November 5, 2011

She Had a Face Only a Mummy Could Love

The night’s entertainment: the 1964 Hammer film The Gorgon, because cheap horror is never better than when it’s so very British and so very cavalier with its source material.

But I’m a sucker for Medusa and a sudden onset of California winter has me homebound, so whatever. The movie tells the story of the titular monster hiding in an abandoned castle in Germany, allegedly because she fled there after her two sisters were slain. One of the sisters, yes, is named Medusa, so that’s at least right, but this surviving member of the headsnake sisters is named Megaera and the other dead one is Tisiphone. Technically, these latter two are Furies, and the association is strong enough that forms of Megaera’s name mean “shrew” in more than one European language. (The Furies, by the way, are not to be confused with the furries, about which I will not speak, and Megaera is not to be confused with Hercules’s lady love Megara, who in the orginal myth literally gets torn to shreds by him. Let’s just re-write everything while we’re at it?)

The super pressing Gorgon-related question we should be asking, however, is this: If the Gorgon sisters caused whatever they looked at to turn to stone, how the hell did they live together? Careful planning? Deliberate placement of mirrors? Bells around their necks? Was it like Ned and Chuck on Pushing Daisies? Is there possibly a sitcom here? Maybe with Marcia Cross, Jane Leeves and Jami Gertz? Can someone get on this pronto?

My little pet monster, previously:

Tuesday, July 5, 2011

Preserve Your Loved Ones in Marble!

Quickly now, two people I met at the Getty Villa:

First, Dick Casablancas from Veronica Mars was there. I can only assume it’s a testament to the greatness of this show that even the Greeks were going on about it back in the day. (Carving busts out of marble is the ancient Greek equivalent of blogging, don’t you know.)

And yes, if Dick himself had been there, he would have made a “bust of a youth” joke.

And then this little bitch. It may sound harsh for me to call the child being represented here a bitch, but that’s actually how the Getty Villa labeled it in the brochure: “Little Bitch, Rome, A.D. 180-200 / The Early Bitchface Age.”

I can only guess that artisans of the day chose to re-create this awful little girl’s likeness in marble simply so their descendants could know what a little bitch she was.

Thursday, June 30, 2011

The Slasher Movies of Greek Mythology

Another story from the Getty Villa: A wall dedicated to the labors of Theseus reminded me that this particular Greek hero on two different occasions got a little Jamie Lee Curtis and bumped off twisted serial killers to make safer the highways and back alleys of the ancient world. Both stories match silly and macabre in just the right proportion that either one could have been adapted into a bad ‘80s slasher film and I don’t think anyone would have bat an eye.

The first, Skiron, gets point for combining foot fetishism with murder. Apparently quite the ladies’ man, men’s man and equal-opportunity perv, Skiron would approach people on the path between Attica and Megaris and convince them to wash his feet. While performing this task — and keep in mind that wearing sandals on an ancient Greek highway would not make for pleasant feet — he’d kick them off a cliff, at which point a tortoise would eat them. I think the Getty Villa’s visual aid illustrates this process nicely.

And then, of course, Theseus killed him.

The second, Prokrustes, would trick travelers into staying in his Guest Bed of Body Dysmorphic Horrors. If the guests were too tall, he’d lop off their appendages until their fit snugly in the bed. If they were too short, he’d stretch them. And in case you think that Prokrustes might spare the rare travel who fit the bed perfectly, he wouldn’t. There were two beds.

Again, the Getty Villa supplies a visual aid.

And then, of course, Theseus killed him.

Despite the apparent demise of both killers, fans asked for years that the two should meet in a crossover myth. And then Skiron vs. Prokrustes hit the amphitheaters and everyone was like, “Damn, that sucked.”

Tuesday, May 24, 2011

Fuck My Ancient Greek Life

I suppose the ancient Greeks had their own spin on “fuck my life, and, perhaps foolishly, I’d like to think that it sounded more eloquent than what people today say when, like, they crack their iPhone screen on when their significant other finds their secret porn Tumblr. Perhaps the ancients would have asked Zeus to strike them down with a lightning bolt. Or maybe they’d ask Artemis to summon a pack of frothing, wild dogs to tear them apart. That’s the beauty of the Greek pantheon: So many ways for the Powers That Be to write the end of your story.

Eloquent or not, many, many, many would have had reason to use the ancient Greek equivalent of “fuck my life,” since most characters in Greek mythology led terrible lives that ended badly. Yes, in spite of the fact that their culture enjoyed the benefits of democracy and homoerotic wrestling, the typical Greek of the ancient world had to contend with multiheaded monsters, countless wars and spear-thrusting jealous lovers, just to name a few of the most common life-enders. Perhaps an unsung heroine of rough Greek life, however, would be Hypsipyle — the Queen of Lemnos and an all-around sad sack.

My reasoning:

First, because the women of Lemnos didn’t pay proper tribute to Aphrodite, this hateful goddess of love cursed all of them, Hypsipyle included, with a carnal stink that rendered them untouchable.
The men, I’m sure, made other plans, and the women decided that the wholesale slaughter of their male relatives would solve the problem. Only Hypsipyle — she of the name that sounds like an adverb describing the motion of Joan from Mad Men — spared one: her dad. Her betrayal of her female subjects went unnoticed for a time…
Meanwhile, Lemnos became a port-of-call for the Argonauts, who were apparently so starved for female affection or so used to boat life and its attendant stench of human ass that they leapt at the chance to score with the Lemnians, she-stink and all. Think of it as a less gay Fleet Week. Jason — the Argonauts’ leader and one the foremost dicks in all of ancient lore — put a baby in Hypsipyle, swore that she’d always be his number-one gal and then promptly shoved off.
So recall that Hypsipyle decided not to kill her pops. Well, the lady Lemnians caught on. Seemingly empowered by their recent sexcapades, they forced her off the throne, leaving her to wander the countryside in that way that fallen queens probably do. Eventually, rescue came in the form of a boat.
Surprise! The boat is pirates, and they promptly sell her to Nemea, where she ends up working as an au pair to the king’s son, Opheltes. Great job, right? Especially considering Hypsipyle’s lack of work experience?
Oh but wait. One day, while she’s apparently taking baby Opheltes on some sort of nature walk, she encounters an army from Argos — not to be confused with the crew from the Argo, which is different and that’s why only one has an “S” — and they demand that she lead them to a drinking fountain. She complies, but then makes the baffling choice of placing the baby on the ground, whereupon he was strangled by a snake.
The Theban king, incensed by Hypsipyle’s stupidity and likely regretting hiring her, seeks revenge, though in the end the Argives protected her, just so she could live out her life while stewing in regret and shame.

Oh, and if this fifteenth-century depiction is accurate, the lady also suffered from some serious fivehead.

What’s she writing, do you suppose? I’d like to think it’s a request to the king of Nemea for a letter of rec for a new job.

This is where the story ends, as far as I know. True, many of her contemporaries suffered worse fates and got turned into various animals in an effort to teach other people morals, but as far as mythological C-stringers go, Hypsipyle led a pretty miserable existence. I’m not sure if she’s punished for any misdeed in particular, so I’m afraid there’s nothing to take away from this story, except that you’re probably better off for not being the queen of Lemnos. Please aspire to other goals.

And yes, I’m including the story of Hypsipyle in the “Now That’s Interesting!” tag. Even though this tag has previously been attached to historical characters, there’s probably a historical basis for Hypsipyle, and her life was probably worse.

Pages