A Few Thoughts On Elon Musk's Campaign Against "The Odyssey"

My, oh my, Elon Musk and his associates are in high racist dudgeon about Christopher Nolan's soon-to-be-released "The Odyssey," particularly with black Kenyan-Mexican actress, Lupita Nyong'o, playing Helen of Troy. My first inclination is to simply dismiss anything Musk says. But then, the point of the racists isn't answered. It's better to try to answer their point. 

Since joining (friend Gabe's) Classics Book Club on Discord two years ago, we've been reading Emily Wilson's translation of Homer's "The Iliad" and "The Odyssey." So, the material is fresh. 

Lupita Nyong'o herself dismisses any controversy by saying "This is a mythological story." It's tempting to accept that dismissal, but the writings of Homer (or the collection of authors that we now call Homer) are only about 2,800 years old, making them fairly recent by mythological standards. Particularly given the coherence of Greek literature there are reasons to believe Odysseus and many other people in his world actually lived. What gets called myth and what gets called history gets really messy with fairly-recent material like this. 

One unassailable fact is that Greek literature, with Homer at the core, has been the basis of European education since at least the Enlightenment, and for some, as far back as the Renaissance. "The Odyssey" certainly feels real enough to have influenced many generations of readers. For most practical purposes, "The Odyssey" is as real as it gets. 

Translator Emily Wilson makes the point that we moderns have to be very careful about imposing our modern ideas back upon the past. For example, when referring to the ocean, which surrounded them on all sides, the ancient Greeks talked about "the wine-dark sea," mostly because wine and seawater sparkle similarly in the bright sunlight. One thing the Greeks don't mention is the seawater appearing blue in color, because "blue" was a concept they didn't yet have. Wine and seawater both have a dark tone and so, to them, were similar in visual impact. Mindbending! 

So, what did the ancient Greeks think about what we call race? We don't really know, because they really didn't say. There were certainly many differences among the peoples who sailed the ancient Aegean Sea, and they commented about some of those differences, especially what peoples did for a living - herders, horsemen, warriors, farmers, sailors, etc. - and they certainly were aware of cultural differences, but the ancient Greeks didn't say much more than that. The modern concept of race doesn't appear. No extra distinction appears between Africans and other peoples from the Black Sea. 

Since there were so many people in his epic poems Homer frequently-used what are called "epithets" - handles, basically. So there's swift-footed Achilles, warlike Menelaus, old Priam, bright-eyed Athena, etc. In regard to goddesses (e.g., Hera, Aphrodite), demigoddesses (e.g., Helen), or noble women (e.g., Penelope), the most-frequently used epithet is "white armed." It probably means high-status women spent much of their time indoors and weren't sunburnt like everyone else. It doesn't necessarily mean they were what we call white, though. 

Plus, it is the artist's prerogative to take written works from one society and apply them to another society, like how director Akira Kurosawa, took Shakespeare's "King Lear" and applied it to Japanese society. Doing so makes art fun! Christopher Nolan certainly has the right to use the talents of Lupita Nyong'o to bring to life Helen of Troy. I'm certainly anticipating seeing for myself, come release of the movie in July. 

So, go home, Elon. You're drunk on ketamine.

I'll Just Help Myself

Jasper is getting willful. Due to my cold, I lost interest in a chicken sandwich I was eating. I left the sandwich at the edge of the table, next to a chair. As soon as I started napping Jasper reached up and helped himself to the sandwich.

Farewell, Flaming Chariot!

Last week, I noticed a note on my 1993 Ford Ranger pickup truck's windshield asking me if I wanted to sell.  Actually, I was thinking of that. 

So, on Monday, I called the number, and with unseemly haste a family raced up from Galt to purchase the vehicle before I changed my mind. 

My motive to sell now was mostly due to finances. I had some chagrin about that. I appreciated having two old vehicles to drive, because in the event that mechanical failure took down one vehicle, there was always another vehicle at the ready. At the same, two old vehicles means twice the number of potential defects, and there was always the burden of twice the insurance payments, registrations, and smog checks. Since 2023, when I bought Sunshine, the yellow 2002 Mazda Protege 5, I've been driving the pickup truck only about 1,000 miles a year: hauling stuff and dump runs and the like. So, I'm back to owning just one vehicle which I hope doesn't break down very often. 

Maybe I'm worried about what my prepper sister said.  She said the Time of Suffering is coming.  It sounds like the Apocalypse, except for the secular set.  I live in California.  I'm not interested in Suffering.  But, who knows?

The desire to own a pickup truck hit me at midnight December 2, 2017, while I was driving my 2002 Saturn sports coupe eastward on Highway 50 in West Sacramento at 60 mph. Actually, it was a Ford Ranger pickup truck that hit me, driven by a maniac who worked in a pizza restaurant out near Winters, racing back home to Sacramento after work. This jerk was driving at least 90 mph: probably closer to 120 mph, when he slammed into the back of my car. The crash was spectacular. I hit the pickup truck in front of me, spun out of control, and had real trouble bringing my car to a stop.

Strangely enough, I suffered only a minor cut and was otherwise unhurt. I attribute my good fortune under the circumstances to an acquaintance in Zumba class, who died in a car accident in July, 2017.  I had trouble finding her descanso, but in a remarkable synchronicity, finally did locate her memorial on accident date, December 2, 2017. (Ooooowweeeoooo!) I can't help but think angelic power she had gained helped shield me from harm.

I was outraged when the CHP cop that responded blamed me for the accident. Apparently the cop was gullible. He talked first with the driver of the Ford Ranger and accepted his story that I was going 20 mph down the freeway and that's why he hit me while he was driving 60 mph. 

I got so angry that I started stalking the home of the driver. A strange passion overtook me. I returned to the accident site and collected broken pieces of my car and the pickup truck's license plate, which had broken free in the accident. Two nearby people became alarmed at my presence and threatened to beat me. Mostly what I wanted was what the Plains Indians customarily did after battles: taking and wearing the clothes and belongings of fallen enemy warriors. 

This practice of literally owning an enemy's belongings really creeped out U.S. soldiers in the 1800s. The presence of what appeared to be U.S. cavalry in the distance who wouldn't come to their aid really bothered the besieged soldiers on Reno Hill at the Battle of the Little Bighorn in 1876.  The desperate soldiers thought these were Custer's men ignoring them.  Not true!  They weren't U.S. cavalry at all; just dressed as them! 

It's very primal thing to want to OWN your assailant. It's like drinking your fallen enemy's blood to gain strength. I wanted to own everything he owned. 

So, I started shopping for a Ford Ranger pickup on Craigslist, and found the 1993 one. Even though it was a different year, it was at least the same make and model as the truck that hit me. 

Now, that may not be the best reason to buy a truck, but there it was. By December 21, 2017, the registration process was complete. 

I had many good and tender times in the truck. Among these times was when I drove to Placerville on October 1, 2018 to pick up a new puppy. Brave Jasper rode in my lap and tried to look over the steering wheel as I drove him down into Sacramento that evening.

What followed over the years was a process of weeding out various mechanical defects, replacing tires, brake system, and getting a new head gasket in 2019. 

The ventilation ducts of the truck accumulated leaves from the hedge looming above its parking space. These leaves were prone to catching fire if I tried to use the heater or the A/C, which yielded the truck's nickname: the Flaming Chariot. On December 3, 2022, I had a massive gas tank leak while driving down the freeway, and indeed, nearly became a real “Flaming Chariot.” 

Good times!

I understand the new owners will use the truck for Door Dash deliveries and the truck will typically be found in cherry orchards near Stockton. So, in a real sense I've put the truck out to pasture!

And maybe too, after a decade dominated by Trump and vengeance, the passion is beginning to wind down.  I don't need to own a pizza maker.  I don't need to own anyone but myself.  And maybe too the Time of Suffering is a phantasm that will evaporate.  Time for peace.