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hawkwing_lbBooks 2011: 46
46. Petronius, The Satyricon. Oxford University Press, Oxford, 1997. Translated with an introduction and notes by P.G. Walsh.
In this fragmentary ancient novel, generally ascribed to the Petronius who was Nero's contemporary and, as Tacitus says, 'arbiter of taste,' sexual hijinks abound. The lustful interludes are interrupted by a long, lovingly-described dinner party, the famous dinner of the vulgar (and obscenely wealthy) parvenu freedman Trimalchio. It's entertaining, but its humour is mean-spirited when directed at anyone but the protagonist, the rather hapless Encolpius, and the litany of debaucheries grows rather wearing. Also, hello, humorous rape! Bloody Romans.
Climbed this afternoon. My capabilities have diminished considerably since this time last year: I'm struggling on 6As, and 6Bs are for the most part beyond me. Sigh. I need to get the discipline together to drop ten kilos, which should make hauling my heavy bones up eleven metres of wall slightly less difficult.
It was fun, though. Climbed three 6As, a 5B twice, another route whose rating was either 5B or 5C, and flailed off of three 6Bs at approximately four metres up. One of the 6Bs was rated a 5. It wasn't a 5. It really wasn't.
Sample conversation:
Me (singing, off-key, while belaying): At the sickbed of Cuchulainn, we'll never say a prayer, for the ghosts are rattling at the gate and the devil's in the chair!
M. [my climbing partner](pausing halfway up the wall): You do realise most people here probably think we're mad?
Me: They're climbers. We're climbers. Sanity is kind of an optional extra around here.
M.:...
M.: Point taken.
46. Petronius, The Satyricon. Oxford University Press, Oxford, 1997. Translated with an introduction and notes by P.G. Walsh.
In this fragmentary ancient novel, generally ascribed to the Petronius who was Nero's contemporary and, as Tacitus says, 'arbiter of taste,' sexual hijinks abound. The lustful interludes are interrupted by a long, lovingly-described dinner party, the famous dinner of the vulgar (and obscenely wealthy) parvenu freedman Trimalchio. It's entertaining, but its humour is mean-spirited when directed at anyone but the protagonist, the rather hapless Encolpius, and the litany of debaucheries grows rather wearing. Also, hello, humorous rape! Bloody Romans.
Climbed this afternoon. My capabilities have diminished considerably since this time last year: I'm struggling on 6As, and 6Bs are for the most part beyond me. Sigh. I need to get the discipline together to drop ten kilos, which should make hauling my heavy bones up eleven metres of wall slightly less difficult.
It was fun, though. Climbed three 6As, a 5B twice, another route whose rating was either 5B or 5C, and flailed off of three 6Bs at approximately four metres up. One of the 6Bs was rated a 5. It wasn't a 5. It really wasn't.
Sample conversation:
Me (singing, off-key, while belaying): At the sickbed of Cuchulainn, we'll never say a prayer, for the ghosts are rattling at the gate and the devil's in the chair!
M. [my climbing partner](pausing halfway up the wall): You do realise most people here probably think we're mad?
Me: They're climbers. We're climbers. Sanity is kind of an optional extra around here.
M.:...
M.: Point taken.
