Megan Thinks Anna Is Interesting

Today is Reminiscere, the second Sunday in Lent. There are five Sundays between the inception of Lent and Palm Sunday: Invocavit, Reminiscere, Oculi, Laetare and Judica. The names come from the first word in the traditional Introit for each day. There is no cantata today, respecting the practice in Leipzig when J.S.Bach served there.

Miss Flemm of the Religious Studies Department delivers today's inspirational message. She speaks on the importance of the Easter Bunny in our lives, and offers the hopeful message that the Easter Bunny will soon arrive.

Mr. Mendelssohn has returned from sunny Florida. The Bach Chorale has no cantati to sing for the next several weeks, but is not idle. Each year, the Chorale joins forces with the Chamber Orchestra to present one of Bach's great Passions on Good Friday; this year, they will perform Bach's Passion According to St. Matthew. There is no clarinet part in the orchestra, so Roderick will sing in the Chorale.

"We're working on a Passion," says Roderick at dinner on Sunday. He sits with Molly, Megan and Anna.

"I like passion," says Megan.

"It's not that kind of passion."

Megan frowns. "There's more than one kind of passion?"

"Apparently so. This is a work of religious faith."

"Yes, I guess that is different. I usually think of passion as sexual desire, like when one of the characters I write about begs her lover to tie her to the four-paster bed and spank her bare buttocks."

Now Molly looks puzzled. "They beg for what?" Molly, it seems, has never read one of Megan's novels.

"Well, sometimes they beg to be spanked, and other times they just beg to be tied up."

"And that is an example of sexual desire?"

"For my characters it is. Of course, it's just fiction. I wouldn't dream of doing such things myself."

"I would." Everyone turns to stare at beautiful, demure Anna, who has just disclosed something interesting about herself. She blushes.

Molly's jaw drops. "Really...?"

"Well, not all the time, but..."

Megan thinks that Anna is much more interesting than she thought, and makes a mental note to spend more time with her.

Meat Is An Aphrodisiac

Today is Invocavit, the first Sunday in Lent. Following the custom at the Thomaskirche in Leipzig during J.S.Bach's tenure, no cantatas are performed during Lent. Mr. Mendelssohn and Mr. Throb take the opportunity to hightail it off to warmer climes for a couple of weeks. Mr. Lustgarden of the History department offers today's inspirational message.

"Good morning. I've pretty much lifted today's message from Wikipedia, from which I shall now read:

Fasting during Lent was more severe in ancient times than today. Socrates Scholasticus reports that in some places, all animal products were strictly forbidden, while others will permit fish, others permit fish and fowl, others prohibit fruit and eggs, and still others eat only bread. In some places, the observant abstained from food for an entire day; others took only one meal each day, while others abstained from all food until mid-afternoon. In most places, however, the practice was to abstain from eating until the evening, when a small meal without vegetables or alcohol was eaten."

He pauses. "We do without scrapple, and the hash is more potato than meat." He continues to read:

"During the early Middle Ages, meat, eggs and dairy products were generally forbidden. Thomas Aquinas argued that "they afford greater pleasure as food [than fish], and greater nourishment to the human body, so that from their consumption there results a greater surplus available for seminal matter, which when abundant becomes a great incentive to lust."

He pauses again, and winks at the audience. "Hear that folks? Meat is an aphrodisiac."

"However, dispensations for dairy products were given, frequently for a donation, from which several churches are popularly believed to have been built, including the "Butter Tower" of the Rouen Cathedral. In Spain, the bull of the Holy Crusade (renewed periodically after 1492) allowed the consumption of dairy products and eggs during Lent in exchange for a contribution to the conflict."

He looks around. "Now that's a racket. 'Dude, you want a pat of butter on your toast. You have to pay the Man'."

Continuing...

"Giraldus Cambrensis in his Itinerary of Archbishop Baldwin through Wales reports that 'in Germany and the arctic regions, great and religious persons eat the tail of beavers as "fish" because of its superficial resemblance to both the taste and colour of fish.' The animal was also very abundant in Wales at the time.

Mr. Lustgarten chuckles. "So it's not just me that thinks beaver smells like fish." There are scattered chuckles from the audience.

"In current Western societies the practice is considerably relaxed, though in the Eastern Orthodox, Oriental Orthodox and Eastern Catholic Churches abstinence from all animal products including fish, eggs, fowl and milk sourced from animals (e.g. goats and cows as opposed to the milk of soy beans and coconuts) is still commonly practiced, meaning only vegetarian (vegan) meals are consumed in many Eastern countries[which?] for the entire fifty-five days of their Lent. In the Roman Catholic Church for the duration of Lent, on Ash Wednesday and Good Friday it is required to eat less than is customary for the day, with no meat, eating only one full meal and two small meals also totalling less than a full meal.
Pursuant to Canon 1253, days of fasting and abstinence are set by the national Episcopal Conference. Parallel to the fasting laws are the laws of abstinence. These bind those over the age of fourteen. On days of abstinence, the person must not eat meat or poultry. According to canon law, all Fridays of the year, Ash Wednesday and several other days are days of abstinence, though in most countries, the strict requirements for abstinence have been limited by the bishops (in accordance with Canon 1253) to the Fridays of Lent and Ash Wednesday. On other abstinence days, the faithful are invited to perform some other act of penance."

Roderick whispers to Molly: "This is more complicated than the Tax Code."

Molly nods and whispers back: "In the Church of Nothing, the rule is 'Relax and go easy on yourself, because you matter."

Mr. Lustgarden continues:

"Exceptions to abstinence on Fridays during the Lenten Season can occur through the dispensation of a particular bishop. For example, in the United States in areas where the diocesan patron is St. Patrick (as in the Archdiocese of New York) or where many Catholics share an Irish heritage (as in Boston), if St. Patrick's Day (March 17) falls on a Friday, the local bishop can grant a dispensation to all Catholics of the diocese from abstinence. (Approximately one third of all Catholic dioceses in the United States grant such a dispensation.) More universally, this occurs on the solemnities of St. Joseph and the Annunciation, which are always 19 and 25 March respectively. If the solemnities (19 March or 25 March), although not Holy Days of Obligation, fall on a Friday during Lent then the obligation to abstain is abrogated. Similarly, during those two solemnities, the faithful may temporarily partake of anything they gave up for Lent, unless they were trying to give up a habitual sin as their Lenten offering- which is not uncommon."

He pauses. "So it's important to remember that if you want to party during Lent it helps if you are part of an organized ethnic group."

"Contemporary legislation is rooted in the 1966 Apostolic Constitution of Pope Paul VI, Paenitemini. He recommended that fasting be appropriate to the local economic situation, and that all Catholics voluntarily fast and abstain. He also allowed that fasting and abstinence might be substituted with prayer and works of charity in nations with a lower standard of living. Traditionally, on Easter Sunday, Roman Catholics may cease their fasting and start again whatever they gave up for Lent, after they attend Mass on Easter Sunday. Orthodox Christians break their fast after the Paschal Vigil (a service which starts around 11:00 pm on Holy Saturday), which includes the Paschal celebration of the Divine Liturgy of St. John Chrysostom. At the end of the service, the priest blesses eggs, cheese, flesh meats and other items that the faithful have been abstaining from for the duration of Great Lent."

Solemnly, he places the iPhone from which he read on the altar. "And so, I shall summarize. Meat is an aphrodisiac, so give it up during Lent since parties are verboten unless you're Irish or donate a building."

He sits, and Mr. Pipes strikes up a pensive recessional.

Natasha Has No Idea

During the Lenten season, scrapple is not served in the Dining Hall at Old Ivy. Instead, the breakfast meat is hash in various permutations: corned beef hash, roast beef hash, red flannel hash and so forth.

Thus, the first day of Lent is Hash Wednesday.

Roderick feels that to eschew scrapple in favor of hash is to understand the true meaning of suffering.

Scrapple was not served in the court of Franz Joseph; Roderick learned this from his book of Austro-Hungarian trivia. At meals, protocol demanded that the Emperor was served first, and also that everyone must stop eating when the Emperor finished eating; since the Emperor ate quickly, plates placed before junior officers at the foot of the table would be immediately whisked away. Hence, the expression "lunch with the Emperor" came to mean no lunch at all.

"Let's sit down and have a conversation" says Natasha, to Roderick, by which she means "sit there and listen while I talk about me."

"Heh," says Roderick. "Sounds like 'lunch with the Emperor'." His wit makes him smile.

Natasha has no clue what he's talking about.

Does She...Or Doesn't She?

It's Friday of an interesting week.

The Vienna Ball was fun, but Roderick wishes they hadn't stopped doing the toast to the Emperor; he is interested in all things kaiserlich und königlich.

"Did you know," says Roderick at breakfast, "that from 1867 to 1918, the Habsburg monarch reigned simultaneously as the Emperor of Austria and as the King of Hungary, while the two territories were joined in a real union (akin to a two-state federation in this instance). The acts of the common government, which only was responsible for the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, the Ministry of War and the Ministry of Finance (financing only the two other ministries), were carried out in the name of 'His Imperial and Royal Majesty' and the central governmental bodies had their names prefixed with k. u. k.?"

Molly chews on some toast. "No," she says; "I had no idea."

Roderick holds up a book. "It says so right here in Interesting Things About Austria-Hungary. I found it in the Library."

He reads on:

Prior to 1867, the collection of territories under the control of the Habsburg monarch in Vienna used kaiserlich und königlich or the hyphenated kaiserlich-königlich interchangeably. Neither of the spellings defined a hierarchy among the Habsburg dynastic kingdoms, principalities, duchies, and other bodies politic.

The Habsburg monarchs ruled the kingdoms of Hungary, Croatia and Bohemia as their Kings. The title Emperor applied to their role as heads of the conglomerate of the mostly German states called the Holy Roman Empire until 1806. The same title, Emperor, came to identify their role as rulers of the newly named Austrian Empire that the Habsburgs ruled from 1804.

After the Austro-Hungarian Compromise of 1867, the Hungarians insisted on the und ("and"), not the hyphen, in all usage in line with the new autonomous status of the kingdom within the Habsburg lands. Use of the phrase "Kaiserlich und königlich" was decreed in a letter written by the Emperor on October 17, 1889 for the military, the navy and the institutions shared by the both parts of the empire.

Subsequently, the abbreviation k.k. did only refer to the institutions of the "Austrian" part of Austria-Hungary (Cisleithania.) The abbreviation m.k. (Hungarian: magyar királyi), or kgl. ung. (German: königlich ungarisch), both meaning "Royal Hungarian", was applied in reference to the governmental bodies of the Kingdom of Hungary (Transleithania.)

In official documents, the abbreviation used provides information on the lands targeted:

-- k.k. or k.-k., meaning "imperial (Austria) – royal (Bohemia)", pertains to the Austrian Empire before 1867 and to the Austrian part of the Austro-Hungarian Empire 1867–1918

-- k.u.k., meaning "imperial (Austria) and royal (Hungary)", pertains to the Austro-Hungarian Empire 1867–1918

"All that fuss and bother over the word und," says Molly.

"Hungarians are sticklers," says Roderick. "I hear that Buda and Pest are still at odds. It's pretty much a forced marriage."

"What happened from 1867 to 1889, when the Emperor decreed use of the word und?"

"I'm not sure. I'm guessing that Austrians sometimes forgot the und, while Hungarians fumed."

Roderick shows Molly the Valentine from Emily. Molly shrugs.

"That picture's all over the place. I think she's posting it on bulletin boards."

On the way to Logic class, Roderick checks the bulletin boards. Sure enough, Emily's lady parts are on display everywhere, leaving no doubt concerning the question: does she wax, or doesn't she? Unlike Megan, Emily most certainly does.

Valentines Day

In the morning, Roderick discovers a dozen Valentines pushed under his door.

There's a nice one from Molly: 'Dear Roderick, Happy Valentines Day. Love, Molly.' Roderick likes that one. Short, sweet and to the point. Like Molly, except she is not short.

There are several others that demonstrate various degrees of eroticism, including one in a scented envelope addressed to 'Mr. Darcy'. Roderick chuckles. "Guess who sent this one," he says to nobody in particular.

There's one from Emily Scharf. He slits it open and discovers a picture of Emily's buttocks and lady parts, the result of Emily sitting on a Xerox machine with no underwear. Gosh, he thinks. Emily sure is aggressive.

Brevity

Mr. Smith writes something daily for Roderick to read, even when he travels.

Today, he is in Knickerbocker City with naught but an iPad and its lame keyboard.

After dinner, Roderick checks his email and finds this:

'Roderick,

Hi. Staying in Knickerbocker City tonight with naught but my iPad...'

Roderick pauses. Gosh, he thinks. My Dad sure knows how to restate that which is already known. He continues to read.

'The iPad has a lame keyboard. Also, the widget that indents embedded text like this note does not work, so I have to use single quotes. So this note will be kind of short. Love, Dad'

Brevity, thinks Roderick, is the soul of wit. Though perhaps not in this case.

Roderick Isn't Cross Anymore

"They found Richard the Third's body" says Roderick between bites of scrapple.

"I didn't know it was lost" says Molly.

Megan is puzzled. "Who is Richard the Third?"

Anna explains. "Richard III was King of England for two years, from 1483 until his death in 1485 in the Battle of Bosworth Field. He was the last king of the House of York and the last of the Plantagenet dynasty. His defeat at Bosworth Field, the decisive battle of the Wars of the Roses, is sometimes regarded as the end of the Middle Ages in England. He is the subject of the play Richard III by William Shakespeare."

Roderick is impressed. "You really know your history! That sounds exactly like the opening paragraph of the Wikipedia entry about Richard III."

Anna holds up her iPhone, which displays the opening paragraph of the the Wikipedia entry about Richard III.

"How do you lose a body?" asks Molly. "That seems like it would be hard to do."

"Because of the circumstances of his accession and in consequence of Henry VII's victory," says Anna, "Richard III's remains received burial without pomp and were lost for more than five centuries. In 2012, an archaeological excavation was conducted on a city council car park on the site once occupied by Greyfriars, Leicester. The University of Leicester confirmed on 4 February 2013 that a skeleton found in the excavation was, beyond reasonable doubt, that of Richard III, based on a combination of evidence from radiocarbon dating, comparison with contemporary reports of his appearance, and a comparison of his mitochondrial DNA with two matrilineal descendants of Richard III's eldest sister, Anne of York."

"Wow!" says Roderick.

Anna holds up her iPhone, which displays the fourth paragraph of the Wikipedia entry.

Henry, who was sitting quietly eating his breakfast, joins the conversation. "I saw that play once. Richard the Third was a piece of work."

"I don't know," says Roderick. "Everyone ignores the good things Richard did."

"He arranged for a clergyman to declare his nephews to be illegitimate sons of his elder brother, so he could succeed to the throne," says Henry.

"Well, yes, he did do that."

"And he arranged for the execution of Hastings, his brother's Lord Chamberlain."

"Yes, but except for those two things he was a pretty good king."

"He also murdered his two young nephews, who were ahead of him in the line of succession."

"Okay, well except for declaring his two young nephews to be illegitimate, killing them and arranging the execution of Hastings, he was a pretty good king."

"Also, he lost the Battle of Bosworth Field and died at the hands of Henry Tudor, who subsequently became Henry VII," says Anna, peeking at her iPhone.

Roderick feels like he is losing the argument, and is a little cross. "So it's all about who wins and who loses."

Molly has no deep knowledge of political history, but she remembers something her father said once. "History is written by the victors," she chirps. Roderick glares at her.

Megan adds her two cents. "Henry Ford said History is bunk. Also, he did not like Jews."

In the hallway, Molly presses up to Roderick and kisses him. Roderick was cross, but he isn't now.

Megan is Ready

Monday morning. Roderick spends some time on the Internet, and finds this piece about college education. He spends about ten minutes reading it. Gosh, he thinks. I'm glad to be attending Old Ivy, where knowledge-based exams are already the norm.

Next, he reads this review of Amity Schlaes' biography of Coolidge. Hooray for Coolidge, he thinks. Next, we need to re-evaluate Warren G. Harding, who deserves better treatment then he gets from High School textbooks. Teapot Dome? How is that different from Solyndra?

Roderick finds this picture of a bubble car, which reminds him that he hasn't spoken to Mr. Smiley lately.

He dials Mr. Smiley's landline phone. Smileys prefer not to speak on cell phones, because they get distracted and bump into things.

"Hello, this is Mr. Smiley."

"Mr. Smiley, this is Roderick."

"Hello, Roderick."

"I found a picture of a bubble car, and it made me think of you."

"That's nice."

"We got a blizzard here at Old Ivy. Did you get any of that in Smileyville?"

"Silly. It's always sunny and seventy degrees here in Smileyville, except at Christmas when it snows so it's pretty."

"Oh, that's right, I forgot."

"There's an excellent new book out about Coolidge, do you plan to read it?"

Mr. Smiley pauses and checks his memory to see if he knows who Coolidge is. He decides that he doesn't.

"Not for awhile, I've got so many things to do." This isn't strictly true. Mr. Smiley really has nothing to do but Smileys, as a rule, do not read.

"Why don't you come and visit Molly and me at Old Ivy?"

"Maybe in the Spring. I don't think the Bubble Van handles snow that well."

"Okay, well it's nice speaking with you."

"Bye-bye."

Honestly, thinks Roderick, Mr. Smiley hasn't been quite the same since he married Clothilde and floated off to Smileyville in a hot air balloon.

There is a scrabbling noise, and a note appears under Roderick's door. It's from Megan, who wants him to know that she's ready and waiting for him as soon as he "does it" with Molly. Roderick tosses the note in the trash.

Hooray for Jesus

Today is Quinquagesima, which is also called Estomihi. In the St. Cecilia Chapel, the Old Ivy Bach Chorale performs J.S. Bach's Cantata BWV 23, Du wahrer Gott und Davids Sohn. Emily Scharf sings the Soprano solo, Mrs Dowager sings the Alto solo and a ringer sings the Tenor solo. There is no Bass solo, but Zack fondles Emily's buttocks firmly during the Chorale.

Mr. Throb of the Theology faculty, who is on a roll, delivers the inspirational message for the third week in a row.

"Today is Quinquagesima" he orates from the altar, "which is also called Estomihi or Shrove Sunday. 'Estomihi" comes from the first two words of the traditional Introit for today, Esto mihi in Deum protectorem, et in locum refugii, ut salvum me facias. This means something in Latin, but don't ask me what because I don't know.

"Today is the last Sunday before Ash Wednesday, which means you have three more days of fun left. For a good time, call me.

"The Biblical text for today is Luke 18:31-43, which I will read aloud:

And it came to pass, that as he was come nigh unto Jericho, a certain blind man sat by the way side begging:
And hearing the multitude pass by, he asked what it meant.

And they told him, that Jesus of Nazareth passeth by.

And he cried, saying, Jesus, thou son of David, have mercy on me.

And they which went before rebuked him, that he should hold his peace: but he cried so much the more, Thou son of David, have mercy on me.

And Jesus stood, and commanded him to be brought unto him: and when he was come near, he asked him,

Saying, What wilt thou that I shall do unto thee? And he said, Lord, that I may receive my sight.

And Jesus said unto him, Receive thy sight: thy faith hath saved thee.

And immediately he received his sight, and followed him, glorifying God: and all the people, when they saw it, gave praise unto God.

Mr. Throb beams at the congregation. "I wouldn't mind running into this Jesus -- I can hardly read a restaurant menu anymore, especially when the lights are dim." He pauses, amid scattered chuckles. "Of course, if you've ever seen my wife you know that myopia can be a blessing."

The congregation bursts into laughter.

"Mama told me I'd go blind if I masturbate. But with Jesus, it doesn't matter!"

Uproarious laughter.

"How do you like that, folks? This Jesus is really something, huh? He's walking down the street and there's this blind guy sitting there and Jesus goes 'poof' and the blind guy can see again. Isn't that marvelous? Let's hear it for Jesus!"

Loud applause. Mr. Pipes strikes up a rousing recessional.

The Vienna Ball

Blizzard last night. Roderick and Molly cuddled under the covers and listened to the howling wind.

This morning, Roderick awakes, sits up and tentatively plants a naked foot on the floor. Yow, it's cold. Donning his slippers, he pads over to the window to peer out at what the storm has wrought.

Great drifts of snow snake across the Quad. One of them touches the lowest branch of the Thinking Tree; branches of the Kissing Tree bend low under the weight of the snow.

The Adirondack chairs that populate the Quad are buried.

It's early, and nobody is up and about. The surface of the snow remains pristine. Roderick sighs. It's pretty.

Fortunately, the Dining Hall is connected to East Quad by a covered arcade, so there's no need to brave the snow to get breakfast. Molly and Roderick scuttle quickly across the arcade which, though covered, is open to the elements.

"It's freezing!" shivers Molly.

Roderick maintains his laser-like focus on the important things in life. "Let's eat." He heads for the scrapple counter.

"Excuse me, Roderick?" It's Mr. Wellington Wells, who runs the Old Ivy Savoyards.

"Hi," says Roderick. He's thinking about how many pieces of scrapple he will have this morning. Four sounds about right.

"We're doing The Mikado in March and need a Clarinet -- can you join us?"

Roderick pauses. Hmmmm. Bach Chorale every Sunday, three concerts this semester for the Chamber Orchestra, plus tonight's Vienna Ball and miscellaneous concerts like the Schubertiade. Whew, it's a lot.

"Did you say The Mikado? Sure, I'll do it."

The chit-chat makes him hungry. He takes six pieces of scrapple.

Tonight is Old Ivy's annual Vienna Ball, where Old Ivy students dress in their finest garb and waltz to the strains of the Old Ivy Strauss Orchestra under the direction of Mr. Wienerwald. Roderick agreed to play in the orchestra, so he cannot escort Molly; Molly does not care to be escorted by anyone else. There is no need for a piano in the orchestra, so Molly practices by herself on the Bosendorfer in the Conservatory while Roderick plays such favorites as Wiener Bonbons, An der schönen blauen Donau, Künstlerleben, Geschichten aus dem Wienerwald and the beloved Frühlingsstimmen, in which Anna sings the Soprano part.

In 1907, members of the Annual Ball Committee agreed to include polkas on the menu together with waltzes and quadrilles. This year Mr. Wienerwald has selected 'S gibt nur a Kaiserstadt, 's gibt nur a Wien!, the title of which translates from Viennese dialect to Only One Imperial City, One Vienna!.

The Annual Ball Committee has agreed to no changes to the musical program since then, though they did agree in 1937 to drop the toast to His Imperial and Royal Apostolic Majesty,Francis Joseph I, by the grace of God Emperor of Austria; Apostolic King of Hungary, King of Bohemia, Dalmatia, Croatia, Slavonia, Galicia, Lodomeria, Illyria; King of Jerusalem, etc.; Archduke of Austria; Grand Duke of Tuscany, Crakow; Duke of Lorraine, Salzburg, Styria, Carinthia, Carniola, the Bukovina; Grand Prince of Transylvania; Margrave of Moravia; Duke of the Upper & Lower Silesia, Modena, Parma, Piacenza, Guastalla, Oswiecin, Zator, Cieszyn, Friuli, Ragusa, Zara; Princely Count of Habsburg, Tyrol, Kyburg, Gorizia, Gradisca; Prince of Trent, Brixen; Margrave of the Upper & Lower Lusatia, in Istria; Count of Hohenems, Feldkirch, Bregenz, Sonnenberg, etc.; Lord of Triest, Kotor, the Wendish March; Grand Voivode of the Voivodship of Serbia etc. etc..

Abandonment of the toast had nothing to do with the death of the Emperor, the abdication of his successor, dissolution of his Imperial fief or subsequent political events; rather, the practice had emerged among Old Ivy students to take a drink after the reading of each province named in the title, so that after the toast the Ball tended to collapse into drunken chaos.

The time slot needed to read the official grand title and render the toast is now given over to playing the Kaiser Walzer.

A Quiet Day

Roderick walks to the Dining Hall with Molly. He sees Emily Scharf, smiles and waves. Emily presses up to him and whispers "How about some quick sex? I have ten minutes before class."

"Um...heh heh...I'm a little busy right now, but...perhaps some other time...?"

Emily departs. "Sheesh," says Roderick to Molly. "The women here are kind of aggressive."

Today, Roderick spends no time at all thinking about or debating the merits of John Locke. He does, however, check out the latest political news from the United Kingdom, and is pleased to learn that Mr. Chris Huhne has accepted an appointment as Crown Steward and Bailiff of the three Chiltern Hundreds of Stoke, Desborough and Burnham, commonly referred to as the Chiltern Hundreds. Wow, he thinks. What an impressive posting. He wonders if he should look it up in Wikipedia.

He likes this post about Nigel Farage.

He check's Nigel Farage's Twitter feed, and concludes that Twitter is for retards.

The Idea of An Author

At lunch, Mr. Parvelescu sits with Roderick, Lily and Justin. Roderick would not ordinarily consider dining with Justin, but sometimes it's handy to have a Communist at the table to serve up straw man arguments, like skeet.

True to form, Justin launches the conversation: "Locke's idea of natural rights is bogus. All rights are socially defined. There is complete consensus among social scientists on that point."

"A social scientist's job description is to study social phenomena," replies Mr. Parvelescu, "so it's not surprising that they ascribe all effects to social causes. That's like saying that fishermen are very engaged with fish; it's an obvious point, but of no relevance to you or me."

Justin keeps digging. "Everything is socially defined. Ideas are the superstructure of society; they reflect material relationships and ownership of the means of production. It's the only explanation that doesn't require resort to an uncaused cause, such as the idea of God."

Mr. Parvelescu demonstrates the patience of Job. "I see that you have read Marx for Dummies. First, I would simply note that Marxists never apply the concept of historical materialism to themselves; if ideas simply reflect the means of production then what precisely causes people to believe in Marxist ideas? And if ideas are simply an effect, what is the point of discussion? You can dismiss Locke as a 'bourgeois' philosopher, I can dismiss Marx as an alienated crackpot. and that's the end of it. What happens then? Do we settle the matter with a brawl? The presumption of a discussion on political philosophy is that ideas are powerful, and that they merit discussion and debate.

"Moreover," says Mr. Parvelescu, who is developing a head of steam, "as a matter of philosophy, you must believe in human rights that are independent of socially defined rights. One can debate the nature of those rights or their source - some would say that rights come from God, others would say they are inherent in nature -- but belief in objective human rights is a necessary predicate of any critique of existing socially defined legal rights. Without a belief in absolute rights, you have no place to stand.

"Consider, as a case in point, the question of slavery in the United States. If you believe that rights are purely a social phenomenon, you must believe that since black persons in the South had no legal rights, the institution of slavery was okay because it was socially accepted. The slaves, of course, weren't happy with it, but there would be no foundation for anyone not directly victimized to oppose it.

"In fact, we know that there were many people in the United States who opposed slavery on moral grounds, and it's impossible to reduce their opposition to material self-interest. From the perspective of moral philosophy, enslaved persons always had natural rights, even before the American laws and Constitution recognized those rights. And this belief in objective rights is the engine that motivated the likes or Frederick Douglass and William Lloyd Garrison."

Justin tires of serving as Mr. Parvelescu's punching bag and retreats. Meanwhile, Roderick notes that Lily's hand, which has rested on his inner thigh for several minutes, appears to be crawling in the general direction of his crotch.

"I must say," says Roderick, squirming, "you certainly do work hard at explaining this stuff."

Mr. Parvelescu feigns modesty. "I'm just a mouthpiece for the Author," he says, glancing upward.

"Um..what Author do you mean?"

"Why, the same Author who created you and everything else in our world."

Roderick thinks that Mr. Parvelescu may be working too hard, and needs some rest. Jeez, the very idea of an Author.

Decolletage Gazing

Roderick is troubled by John Locke. He visits Mr. Parvelescu in his office.

"I'd like to agree with John Locke, because he's such an important political philosopher...but his arguments seem so, well, quaint."

Mr. Parvelescu peers at him over the top of his glasses. "Whether or not you agree with John Locke is irrelevant to anything. What matters is that you understand John Locke."

"Okay."

"Suppose you went to a museum and saw van Leeuwenhoek's microscope from around the same period in the late 1600s. Would you say 'Dude, that van Leeuwenhoek was retarded because he didn't use an electron microscope?'"

"No."

"You would likely think that van Leeuwenhoek was a pretty smart guy to take the materials and tools available to him, improve on them and discover something new, right?"

"Um, yes." Roderick is wondering who the heck this van Leeuwenhoek is and what he has to do with political philosophy, but he says nothing because Mr. Parvelescu can be kind of harsh on you if he thinks you're ignorant.

"So think of the texts in this course as cultural artifacts, like van Leewenhoek's microscope. John Locke was part of a debate about the respective role of King and Parliament. Separately, Hobbes and Filmer advocated for the King; Hobbes used 'state of nature' reasoning to support his argument, while Filmer used Biblical references. By using 'state of nature' reasoning against Filmer, Locke drove a wedge between philosophical naturalists and religious devotees, dividing the opposition."

"It sounds like a battle."

"Politics is war carried on by other means." Mr. Parvelescu pauses and takes satisfaction in the brilliance of this comment, which cleverly inverts Clausewitz' dictum that 'war is politics carried on by other means'.

"But...does it mean anything? Outside of this particular conflict in late Seventeenth-Century England?"

"Locke's idea of natural rights strongly influenced Enlightenment thinkers, the American Founders and continues to inspire those who oppose the assertion of absolute power, kingly or otherwise."

"What do you say to people like Justin, who say we should simply ignore Locke?"

"He's a Communist."

"OK, but what then? Shoot him?"

Mr. Parvelscu pauses to ponder this one. There is a certain merit to summary executions for avowed Communists, he figures, but in practice it gets a little messy. "You just have to decide which side you're on. If you favor liberty and personal freedom, read John Locke and take him seriously. If you voted for Obama, on the other hand, nothing matters other than the latest techniques for online political organizing, so forget about it."

On the way to the Dining Hall, Roderick bumps into Lily Chang, who wears a daringly low-cut red dress. "Going to lunch?" she inquires.

Roderick is most certainly going to lunch, and looks forward to dining with Lily. After that heavy conversation with Mr. Parevelescu, he needs some quality decolletage-gazing time.

The Proper Place for a Communist

Justin Cabot-Fluffer,eldest son of the Cabot-Fluffers of Bedford Glen, is unhappy with John Locke; he is also unhappy with Mr. Parvelescu for lecturing on Locke without offering equal time to Karl Marx.

"John Locke is a bourgeois capitalist philosopher who speaks for the rich," he announces during class discussion.

"Such as your parents..." remarks Mr. Parvelescu.

Justin ignores the comment. "His idea that the primary role of government is the protection of property is rubbish based on a bogus foundation of 'state of nature' theorizing that we can toss into the dustbin of History."

Mr. Parvelescu strides over to Justin's table and looms over him. "I'll take that," he says, swiping Justin's iPhone.

"Hey!" yells Justin. "That's mine!"

"Well it was yours, but it's mine now." He holds it up for all to see.

"You can't do that!"

"I just did."

"But..."

"Let me guess, you were about to say that you have a right to keep your iPhone, yes?"

"I sure do?"

"Who gave you that right?"

"Um...society, the courts, the legislature. There are laws against stealing."

"I didn't steal anything. This phone used to be yours but it's mine now."

"Society says I have a right to my property."

"Anyone here agree with him?" Mr. Parvelescu looks around the room. No hands are raised. "Sorry, the society in this room doesn't agree with you." He plays with the phone. "How do you unlock this thing?"

"I'll call my Dad."

"Ah, the appeal to authority. Maybe that will work and maybe it won't. But admit it -- regardless of what your Communist friends tell you, you instinctively believe that you have an absolute right to your property, dare I say a natural right, correct? You don't have to say anything, I've made my point." He returns the phone.

Roderick thinks this is all very entertaining. He likes to see Communists put in their place.

On Property

Today is Sexagesima Sunday, sixty days before Sunday and the second Sunday before Lent. Today, in St. Cecilia Chapel, the Old Ivy Bach Chorale performs J.S. Bach's cantata BWV 126 Erhalt uns, Herr, bei deinem Wort (Uphold us, Lord, within thy word). Mrs. Dowager sings the Alto solo, a ringer sings the Tenor solo and Zack sings the Bass solo. There is no Soprano solo, and no buttock-fondling.

Mr. Throb of the Theology faculty returns this week to deliver the inspirational message.

"My friends, good morning.

"Today is the second Sunday before Lent, so you have just ten days left to make the most of Carnival season. Call me if you need to hook up with someone, and I'll see what I can do...

"The traditional reading for this Sunday is the Parable of the Sower. I read aloud the relevant passage from the Book of Mark:

Hearken; Behold, there went out a sower to sow: And it came to pass, as he sowed, some fell by the way side, and the birds of the air came and devoured it up. And some fell on stony ground, where it had not much earth; and immediately it sprang up, because it had no depth of earth: But when the sun was up, it was scorched; and because it had no root, it withered away. And some fell among thorns, the thorns grew up, and choked it, and it yielded no fruit. And other fell on good ground, did yield fruit that sprang up and increased; and brought forth, some thirty, and some sixty, some an hundred. He said unto them, He that has ears to hear, let him hear.

"In this parable, Jesus is telling us how to have a nice lawn. First, if you plant your grass seed when there are lots of birds around the birds will eat the seed, so unless you like feeding birds and stuff don't do that. Second, you really want to dig the stones out of the ground, or else the sun will kill the grass and your lawn will look like crap. And you definitely don't want to let thorns grow in your lawn because they are really nasty. Dig them out, or buy a bottle of RoundUp at the Big Box store; one squirt and those fuckers are dead.

"And that's the message for today. Listen to the words of Jesus and you, too, can have a nice lawn."

With that, Mr. Pipes cranks up a rousing recessional.

Lily Chang meets Roderick after the service and invites him to brunch with Mr. Parvelescu. Roderick accepts the invitation; he's curious to hear Mr. Parvelescu's thoughts on the controversy about property. They walk together across the road to the Old Ivy Inn, where Mr. Parvelescu awaits them.

Seated at the brunch table, Roderick breaks the ice. "So I guess some of the students don't buy into Locke's idea that civil society was created for the protection of property."

Mr. Parvelescu peers at Roderick over his glasses. "They're Communists."

That settled, the trio orders brunch. Roderick will have scrapple and eggs, Mr. Parvelescu will have Beauneville ham and eggs, and Lily orders the Yebeg Wot. "The Ethiopian food is really good here," she confides to Roderick. Roderick nods, admiring the cut of her cleavage.

Hoping for John Locke

Molly has a concert this evening. As an extension of the annual Schubertiade, much of the musical life at Old Ivy in February revolves around Schubert. Tonight, Molly will perform Schubert's second Piano Trio together with Henry Wang on violin and Dorothy Bangs on cello.

Henry, one of the few violinists at Old Ivy not named Chang, is a bit of a jokester. Three weeks ago, when they first met to rehearse the piece, he joked: "Hey, we can call ourselves the Wang-Bangs-Bloom Trio!"

Molly didn't laugh. "No thank you, I'd rather not do that." That is Molly's polite way to say "go fuck yourself, dork."

Dorothy chuckled. "At least my last name isn't Fux."

Roderick, of course, is in the audience tonight, together with Anna, Megan, Emily Pointe and Henry Witherspoon. The Schubert is one of Roderick's favorite works, especially the fourth movement, which begins with a remarkably jolly but complex tune played by the piano alone:

Tee-ya-ta-ta tum tum tum,
Tee-ya-ta-ta ta, ya-ta-ta ta,
Tee-ya-ta-ta ta-ta-ta ta-ta-ta tum,
Ya-ta-ta ta-ta-ta ta-ta-ta tum,
Ya-ta-ta tum-te tum-te tum-te tum-te tum-te tum-te tum,
Ya-ta-ta tum-te tum-te tum-te tum-te ta-ta-ta ta-ta-ta tum,

At which point the piano and cello come in to repeat the tune, develop it a little, then play it again with some dramatic variations. This time, at the end of the tune, the trio brings the music to what seems like a dramatic closure, but isn't; after a brief silence, they move into uncharted waters in a minor key.

All of this happens in the first minute and a half.

Anyway, Roderick likes it. Before the concert, he found this YouTube clip of a famous performance.

The performance tonight is excellent, though Dorothy has a bit of an upskirt problem, an occupational hazard for female cellists. The problem is compounded by the unfortunate decision to seat Dorothy facing the audience, and by Dorothy's sartorial choices, which do not include underwear.

In any case, the audience is not left in doubt about whether or not Dorothy waxes down there. The answer: she most certainly does not.

At the post-concert reception, Molly introduces Henry and Dorothy to Roderick, Anna, Megan, Emily and Henry. Introduced to Dorothy, Roderick wonders if he should comment on the view, but decides against it, reasoning that ladyparts rarely make good conversation in social settings such as this.

Dorothy, invited to comment on her performance, says "I muffed that solo in the second movement." Megan, who is in mid-drink, sprays.

Roderick, seeking to change the subject, discusses the pros and cons of ventilation.

Emily Pointe stands close to Roderick, fiddling her drink. She hopes that John Locke will be mentioned.

The State of Nature

Yesterday's Schubertiade went swimmingly well. Each year, as you may recall, Old Ivy College honors Franz Schubert's birthday with a Schubertiade, which Wikipedia defines as "an event held to celebrate the music of Franz Schubert." During Schubert's lifetime, these events were generally informal, unadvertised gatherings, held at private homes. While in those years many Schubertiades included the composer's participation, this is no longer common practice as Mr. Schubert is long since dead.

Schubertiades in early 19th-century Vienna were typically sponsored by wealthier friends or aficionados of Schubert's music. In addition to Schubert's music, they often also featured poetry readings, dancing, and other sociable pastimes. Attendees numbered from a handful to over one hundred. Schubert's friend Leopold Kupelwieser claimed to hold them on his own, writing, "I treat myself to a Schubertiade now and again". Mr. Kupelwieser lacked Schubert's musical talent, which is why Kupelwieseriades are rare.

Anna, Roderick and Molly played Der Hirt auf dem Felsen (The Shepherd on the Rock). For a recording of the event, which lasts about eleven minutes, click here.

This morning, Megan resumes reading Mr. Strnk's text

Elementary Principles of Tweet Composition

(5) Respect cultural differences when using emoticons. Emoticons are culture-specific and certain emoticons are only found in some languages but not in others. For example, the Japanese equivalent of emoticons, kaomoji (literally "face marks"), focus on the eyes instead of the mouth as in Western emoticons. They are also meant to be read right-side up, as opposed to sideways. Compared to emoticons used in Western cultures such as the United States, kaomoji play a very distinct social role in online discourse.

(6) Avoid Leetspeak. Leetspeak is an alternative alphabet for the English language which uses various combinations of ASCII characters to replace Latinate letters. For example, Wikipedia may be expressed as "w1k1p3d14". It originated from computer hacking, but its use has been extended to online gaming as well.

(7) Refrain from flaming. Flaming refers to the use of rude or profane language in tweets. It can be caused by any subject of polarizing nature. Remember that Twitter debates are like the Special Olympics: even if you win, you're still retarded.

(8) Use Padonkaffsky jargon only if you want to be incomprehensible. If you don't know what Padonkaffsky jargon is, read this.

Megan clicks through on the link and reads about Padonkaffsky jargon. Hmmm, she thinks. A Padonkaffsky version of Pride and Prejudice, perhaps?

Later in the afternoon, Roderick stops by the dance studio for no reason other than to watch Emily Pointe pirouette, something she does rather nicely. Seeing Roderick, she pauses in mid-pirouette, then executes a perfect pas de bourree in his general direction, ending in plié. Roderick applauds.

Emily inquires about his day.

Roderick proceeds to explain the differences between Hobbes and Locke regarding the state of nature.

Emily feels all tingly.