Accidental Incantations

When I was a young lad but knee-high to a pederast I had this fantasy that there were a number of phrases and gestures that, when uttered or performed, would cause small magical things to happen. It was just difficult to figure out what the phrase and/or gesture should be, because there are a very large number of combinations of English words (not an infinite number, but near as dammit), and you would have to say "spooooge mudflap" or something to make the magic occur. You would also have to pronounce it exactly right. To make it even worse, the magical act that resulted might be so trivial as to be unnoticible to the casual observer. "Spoooooge mudflap" might simply make the pants unsnap on that cute girl over there.

Needless to say, I am often to be seen wandering around muttering "spoooooge mudflap."

So the reason that most people don't know that magic can potentially occur on a daily basis is that having exactly the right circumstances come about to invoke the magic would be extremely unlikely, and even if it did, the triggering phrase or gesture probably would not be associated with the little magical event at all. Thus probably none of you believe in magic.

I do, though. For example, I have discovered through years of research that some phrases act as incantations that cause people to appear. I usually come across these incantations by accident but, astute observer that I am, I notice the cause and effect relationship and I feel pretty damn smug about it, I don't mind telling you.

As an example, when I say the following phrase, my friend Molly (who I have mentioned here and here) shows up. The phrase is "Gallia est omnis divisa in partes tres", the first phrase in Julius Caesar's De Bello Gallico. Basically it translates as "Gaul is divided into three parts" if your Latin is rusty. I don't recall how I first stumbled across this, but since I really like Molly I am pretty happy to have this incantation stuck up my arsenal. I haven't yet mentioned to Molly that I can control her life because telling her about it might screw it up and make it not work. You never know how fragile these things really are.

Another incantation I discovered that I am less thrilled about is "cheesecake." Whenever I say that word, which is not often because I am not a big fan of cheesecake, this very large unkempt white woman with a faint mustache shows up. I've never spoken to her and don't intend to, but up she pops whenever I say that word. I just discovered that it's okay to type it, which is something of a relief. She creeps me out a little bit.

A much more useful incantation I learned is that when I am at a bar and carefully pronounce the word "endometriosis" someone buys me a drink. This has helped out a lot through the lean times I've had lately, believe me. The only downside is that people have started thinking that I'm an amateur OB/Gyn. Now that I think about it though I suppose I am. By the way, if you try this incantation yourself, be prepared to find that you don't like the person that buys you the drink. The incantation doesn't seem to cover that part of the equation. You were warned.

The last magical phrase I've stumbled upon that I'm going to share with you is that every time I say the word "the" whoever I happen to be hitting on at the moment becomes mentally enfeebled and defective. This sucks. I hope this one quits working soon.

Apropos of the last one, I've been searching and searching for the ultimate anti-incantation: one that makes somebody immediately go away and not come back. So far no luck, but if I find it I'll let you know.

-- Hulles

Catullus Revisited

This is a follow-up to my post Asymptote Of Vindication. If you recall, we last left our hero -- me -- slightly chagrined that his entire liberal arts education in general and college Latin studies in particular had not been vindicated by a young lass he had encountered in a local pub. After finding out said lass was studying Catullus, an obscure Latin poet (which is to say a Latin poet), said hero was able to proudly declaim a couple lines of a love poem written by this very Catullus guy in Latin, fully expecting the astounded lass to leap upon his waiting frame and be carried off to ecstasy. Unfortunately this did not happen, but the consolation prize for her was to be the hero giving the lass a cherished Catullus book as a present the following day.

Unfortunately, this also did not happen, and your hero who is tired of referring to himself in the third person was stood up. And nonplussed in the process.

Whew. So now you're up to speed.

All this is background for an update: I ran into the very same comely young lass -- did I mention she was comely? she was -- in the same public house a couple of nights ago while meeting a couple of squirrelly young lovers. Molly is her name by the way, and she also works the NY Times Crossword for giggles; Hullesfodder if ever you saw it/some/her/whatever. Good lord, I hope I get through this post; even I'm all tangled up at this point.

Anyway, Molly came up to me at the bar and chatted for a bit and apologized for standing me up. She explained that her grandmother had been ill and needed her, and she felt badly for blowing me off but she had no way to get in touch with me to let me know she couldn't make it.

I know what you're thinking, but it's all true. I hadn't given her my phone number, which makes her the only woman in Saint Paul that doesn't have three or four of my business cards scattered about her house, all of them virginal and pristine and unused. And she was obviously being sincere about her grandmother's illness. Who lies about their grandmother? Not me, not you, and most assuredly not her, bless her heart.

The thing is, she was so damn sweet about everything. She was visibly distressed that she had blown me off, even though she had a perfectly good reason for doing so. In fact, she looked so chagrined about the whole affair that I found myself trying to reassure her that everything was okay (it was) and that she had no other recourse available to her at the time (she didn't) and that everything is just fine between us (it is) and that I hold no grudge whatsoever (I don't) and why am I getting trapped in these bizarre sentence structures? Help me, someone, please help me.

After chatting with me for a bit, Molly left to do some things but said that she'd come back to talk again before she left. "Sure you will," I thought uncharitably, but damn me if she didn't come back after a short while and plop down next to me at the bar. We talked a little bit more and she seemed even sweeter to me than she did earlier, if that's possible. Not the cloying sweet, but the angelic sweet; big difference. I was spell-caught in spite of myself.

As she rose to leave, she leaned over and gave me a kiss on the cheek then left.

Blink. [This is the very same blink I did when she said she was reading Catullus, if you want to go back and check.]

Now those of you who have read me for a while know that I'm not very shy about physical affection: "sex 'em down early and sex 'em down often and avoid transporting 'em across state lines" is generally the ethos by which I live my life. But in this case I was actually blissed out by a kiss on the cheek. In fact, it's not too much to say that I was stunned. A good stunned, like when you find out you've won the big Powerball lottery, not a bad stunned, like when your ex-wife tasers you because your alimony check bounced.

I retained the glow I had from the Molly encounter and kiss for the rest of the evening, and must confess that even writing about it now a little of that glow comes back, sort of like drifting golden threads. A kiss on the cheek is such a small thing, but it can sure make a big difference in the kind of day you're having. Remember that prior to Molly's arrival I had been in the company of squirrely young lovers, and there's nothing like SYLs to remind you that your own life is a dismal hell of loneliness and sorrow and empty refried bean cans and taser burns.

So that's it -- I just had to tell you the happy ending to the Molly story. Or maybe it's not the ending after all: she mentioned that she'd still like to get together and talk about Catullus and other stuff sometime.

I hope she lets me know early enough in advance so I can rent a U-Haul to carry all the books I'm going to give to her.

-- Hulles

The Asymptote Of Vindication

Yesterday I ran into Molly at a local public house. Molly's a lovely young popsy with whom I am slightly acquainted; we have a mutual friend named Cady. Molly had stopped in for a quick beer and to do the NY Times crossword puzzle. I went over to flirt with her briefly in my inimitable fashion, then I left her and promised not to bug her and let her do her crossword puzzle in peace. I'm quite considerate that way. But I really liked that she was doing the NY Times puzzle; Thursday's puzzle is usually nontrivial.

About the fifth or sixth time I went over to her table to promise not to bug her she happened to mention that she was taking Latin in college. Cool, I thought. Her popsiness wanes and her allure waxes. (Allure waxes? I'm pretty sure I need one if anyone does.) I myself studied Latin for several years in college. My prof used to call me "Arnie Archaic" because I always wrote my 'u's as 'v's. As you can see I was a smart ass then too. But you can also see why I perked up at the Latin thing.

"That's really great!" I said heartily to Molly, who of course knew none of this. "Who are you reading?"

"Catullus. He was a Roman poet who wrote a lot of love poetry." The "you won't have heard of him" was only implied, not stated.

Blink.

Heh heh. Little did she know I did a two-semester intensive independent study on Catullus. I love Catullus. When I recently applied for Ladonian citizenship I used the beginning of a Catullus poem as the Latin word or phrase that you need to contribute for no reason I was ever able to figure out. You get it. Catullus and I are like this (crosses fingers).

So was this an opportunity lovingly hand-crafted in Heaven or what? In that one brief moment I felt that my entire course of Latin study was about to pay off somehow. Entire course of Latin study? Hell, my entire undergraduate liberal arts education was about to be vindicated to a degree I had not thought possible for the last 30 years. Go Hulles! Molly will swoon into your arms and make simpering noises of adoration and Spring will come early and we'll have lots of babies. Or something.

"Oh, Catullus, you mean like 'Vivamus, mea Lesbia, atque amemus, rumoresque senum severiorum, omnis unis aestimemus assis!'" I said to Molly proudly, only turning a couple of 'u's into 'v's just to piss Ed Burke off. This is the same thing I used for Ladonian citizenship -- it's the beginning of what is probably Catullus' most famous love poem if an obscure Roman poet can be said to have a famous anything. And of course it was the only one I had memorized at that particular moment. So I stood there beaming, waiting for the swooning and simpering and shit.

She just looked at me. I don't think her expression even changed one iota. She might have made a "hunh" noise; I am uncertain about this after the fact. But not exactly the reaction I had been hoping for.

My next thought was that she probably has millions of guys that come up to her in a bar and quote Catullus in Latin who she happens to be studying at that very moment. My seven years of undergraduate liberal arts study were for naught. I'm not hypereducated at all. Young men today run around all over the place quoting Roman poets in Latin. Great. They're probably all very handsome, speak fluent Portuguese, and are about to move en masse to São Paolo too. Pricks.

Then she smiled a tiny little bit and I felt better.

I'm going to meet her tonight and give her my copy of Catullus' poems, purchased new 34 years ago and kept by me ever since, through marriages, divorces, unfulfilling relationships and countless naftabs. I hope she appreciates it.

I'm not expecting swooning and simpering from Molly though. I guess she's not the swooning and simpering type. Guess I'll have to wait until I meet some other cute blonde who is currently studying Catullus in Latin for that. At least I know I'll be ready when that day comes. Although come to think of it, I thought I was pretty ready yesterday....

I want my money back for those seven years, dammit.

-- Hulles