aggienaut: (no rioting redux)



   If I may be so bold, I'd like to combine two fairly unrelated things in this entry. First I just wanted to post the pictures above and below of Cato posing particularly dramatically. And as long as I'm posting I've been wanting to rant a little bit about the Viking television series so I'm going to go ahead and do that. (Though I'll point out that viking cats are definitely a thing, we can call Cato "Bjornekatt Loðstjärt."(Bear-cat shaggy-butt))

   Now if I have a bunch of criticisms of the Vikings show it's not because I loathe and despise it but because vikings are near and dear to my heart and the show is almost excellent, except for a few things that really grate upon me, which is why I need to get it off my chest.
   I don't intend to include any spoilers in here except for maybe general comments on the personalities of main characters.

   (1) First of all, worst of all, that friggen "seer" is totally fantasy cliche and stolen whole cloth from the movie 300. I like that supernatural things occasionally happen, but I prefer it when they're portrayed kind of ambiguously like it could have just been a coincidence or someone's imagination, but this permanent character who doesn't look like a realistic normal human, doesn't act like one, and I cant' forget that I saw him looking and acting the same way in 300 is just a huge affront to my willing suspension of disbelief and enjoyment of the film.
   (2) What's with the awful haircuts? I googled around about the historical accuracy of the series before writing this and found some stupid puff pieces about how "yes they did have hair braids like that!" ... conveniently ignoring that I'm prrrrretty sure no one could be bothered to painstakingly shave fashionable portions of their head with the tools at hand (which is to say knives and water that would have to be heated over a fire). I feel like in later seasons they toned this down but in the first season it looked like a bunch of bikers with too much time on their hands escaped from hair design school. Also, it's one thing to have it shaved clean but Ragnar's son Bjorne looks like he has his hair shaved evenly at like a no 4 setting on a clippers, which would also be very hard to maintain without, you know, a clippers.
   (3) The immortality of main characters. It's a classic failing of MOST series that eventually you come to realize none of the main characters will ever die. Without giving too much away, several times main characters appear to be killed in battle, shot up with arrows, hacked and then run over by horses, limp corpse carried away... then it turns out they're alive! And walking talking frolicking about in the next scene. Instead of being on the edge of my seat when it looks like a main characters is about to die in battle, as you'd think they'd want the audience to feel, I just roll my eyes and when sure enough it turns out they're actually alive I groan aloud -- not because I specifically want any of the characters in question to die so much as just, come on man.
   (4) the world revolves around them -- it's also a weakness in a series when you start to feel like there's no world outside what's presently on set, and that they're the most important people in the world. In particular, when the viking king comes and hangs out for most of a season or two and has no retainers, seemingly nothing better to do, it seemed pretty odd to me. Doesn't he have at least a town of his own, and I don't know, a best friend? He just floats around like the secondary character he is and it starts to feel like they haven't filled out the rest of the viking world at all.
   (5) I really think they should have cast said king as Ragnar instead of the guy they did. He actually does seem to have the force of presence expected. The guy playing Ragnar seems like he's trying to channel Johnny Depp but it doesn't work for him. He doesn't have a forceful presence, he has a weird retreating twitching not-making-eye-contact not making decisions presence that doesn't seem to me to fit the part.
   (6) Ragnar Lodbroke means "Ragnar shaggy pants," WHERE ARE HIS SHAGGY PANTS
   (7) The tattoos. Did you know, there IS one reference to vikings "being covered in green drawings," by the Arab diplomat Ibn Fadlan who encountered a group of Varangrians (that is to say Norsemen who had settled in what is now Russia) in Bulgaria. Being as this is the only reference in any record, it is far more likely they picked it up in Russia (there's Siberian tribes known to tattoo -- seriously check out these cool tattoos) than that somehow no one in Europe ever thought to mention it and no tattoo implements have survived among the many oddments that have (I call this occam's tattoo needle).
   (8) This doesn't really bother me like the other things, but while I'm mentioning things, despite the two human sacrifices in the series being portrayed as voluntary, and indeed the priests refusing to take a non-voluntary sacrifice, and there are historical references and evidence of sacrifices, there is no historical reference or evidence of a single voluntary sacrifice.
   (9) Cato reminds me that there's no cats. Hmm that's a good point there really aren't.

   But other than the above points I must say I do find it rather enjoyable. I do really appreciate that they make a lot of references to the sagas and historical events. Presently once a week my friend Billie and I get together and I bring a bottle of mead and we watch a few episodes.

aggienaut: (Numbat)
          It's time to submit a second story for my creative writing class.  I decided to use the opportunity to polish up this story I wrote three years ago. Story is due tomorrow (Sunday) morning at 9am, so hopefully someone will have time to look at it and give me feedback before then!

972 AD, Jorvik, England –Olaf mutters some curses as he realizes his old leather boots are doing a terrible job of keeping his feet dry.  He pauses at a corner and looks around.  He’s lived in Jorvik for many years, but the heavy misty rain is disorienting.  Narrow lanes of wattle houses, walls woven of sticks, meander about in a labyrinthine manner.  He runs his hand through his thick tangled red beard.
            Woodsmoke curls from rough holes in many of the damp thatched roofs and swirls around the grey soupy sky, but the dark silhouette of a large stone tower looms over the rooftops, and Olaf takes his bearing on it. The soggy roadway squelches under Olaf’s feet as he walks down one of the narrow lanes.  He passes the crumbling ruins of what was once the wall of a building, it must have been three stories tall in its day, but no one builds things like that anymore.  The stone is green with lichen and moss. The locals say a people called the “Romans” built these things.  Surely some kind of giants, muses Olaf, as he pulls his wool cloak closer and hurries through the rain.
            Olaf stops in front of a rather broad building, its shaggy thatch coming almost down to the ground on the sides.  A sign hangs in front, a slab of wood with a crescent moon excised out of it.  As good a sign as any in a place where few can read.  Olaf pulls back the ox-hide covering the door and ducks into the dark interior of the Crescent Moon Ale House.

            "Ah there you are you old rogue!" Knut stands up behind a table and waves his friend over. He can’t stand entirely though due to the low roof. He's not merely tall, and he's not fat, but he's big. Proportionately big. Seen by himself one might mistake him for a normal-sized person, but then one sees how he dwarfs the people beside him. His curly blonde beard does nothing to diminish his eternally good natured countenance however.
            Olaf smiles sheepishly and then lets out a grumble as he seats himself. He waves over the serving girl and orders some mutton, bread, and ale.
            "So how's that chair coming along you were working on?" asks Knut.
            "Oh, I've almost got it I think." He's not a carpenter, but the goal-oriented fellow is determined not let a simple stool get the better of him.
            "I'm going to make a stool that will last a thousand years!" he proclaims loudly it startles a nearby grey bearded, one eyed old man in a broad brimmed hat.  Olaf quickly occupies himself with taking a large swig of his juniper ale, studiously avoiding eye contact with the old man.

            The mutton and bread arrives, and the conversation turns, as it so often does, to the good old days. When Knut and Olaf were young Jorvik was an independent kingdom ruled by northmen.  Now they had an earl in a tower and a disputed throne in faraway London.
            “Next thing you know we’ll all be speaking that English!” muses Olaf.  Knut rumbles with chuckles at this idea.
            “Never, it’s far too ugly a language compared to Norwegian” he assures Olaf, who had to agree.
            Knut notices Olaf grimacing and shifting uncomfortably in his chair.  "You know, Olaf, you might feel better if you ate a vegetable now and then." Comments Knut, with stew dripping down his beard, and a wooden spoon in one hand.
            "Bah!" scoffs Olaf "rabbit food never did a man any good! ... besides I have a better solution."
            "Whatsh that?" asks Knut, a leek hanging from his mouth.
            Olaf produces a small round smooth stone. "This stone I bought at the market today. These things are supposed to cure any poison." He plunks it proudly into his ale tankard and toasts with it.
"It was found in the guts of a cow," explains Olaf, while Knut curiously peers into Olaf's wooden tankard. "…but how does it get there?" asks Olaf, tapping his forehead knowingly, "cows don't eat stones!” It's the very embodiment of the magic of digestion... or something!" he finishes a bit lamely, reluctant to put forward any advanced theological theories on the subject.
            "So.. you're going to swallow that??" asks Knut incredulously.
            "No, no, no, you just put it in your drink and its powers are absorbed by the ale," says Olaf, absently examining the joints on a nearby chair.

            A few hours and several tankards of ale later Olaf is stumbling home, when he feels the call of nature. He quickly ducks down a narrow alley between two houses that leads to the riverbank.  The overhanging thatch from the two roofs nearly touches.  He hurriedly drops his trousers and squats over a muddy pool by the bank as his bowels begin to rumble. Maybe the magic stone is starting to work, he wonders, for --I don't mean to alarm you dear reader-- but it's been a few days since he was last able to make a bowel movement. A noise erupts from his posterior that is so rude even Olaf feels a little embarrassed.  Somewhere nearby a small child begins to cry. His excretion quickly disappears into the anaerobic depths of the muddy water. Olaf hurriedly pulls a handful of straw off the nearby roof thatch, wipes his rump with it, tosses it into the river, and then hurries into the night.




2014 AD, York, England – “And this, boys and girls, is one of our most valuable artifacts,” the docent gestures to a display case containing what appears to be a knobby seven-inch-long rock. Thirty schoolchildren crane their necks to get a better look at the inexplicable object.  “I want you all to hold out your hands, pretend you’re holding it.  It weighs as much as a brick, it’s rough and knobby. It’s called the ‘Lloyd’s Bank Coprolite.’”  Any guesses what you’re holding.
          Thirty children cradle invisible coprolites obediently.  They have pigtails and school uniforms.  They gaze at the docent earnestly.
          “A coprolite is a fossilized poop. This is the world’s largest Viking poop.”  Thirty children shriek and drop their imaginary coprolites.

aggienaut: (Default)

972 AD, Jorvik, England - A light rain falls as Olaf walks down a narrow street. On either side he passes narrow houses made of wattle (woven twigs) and posts. Woodsmoke swirls out of special openings in the thatched roofs. Over the rooftops to the north can be seen one of the few stone buildings -- a mysterious people known as "Romans" had built various amazing stone buildings across the land that were still standing nearly 500 years after the Romans left. In this case the tower had once been part of the gatehouse of a Roman fort. What had been a gatehouse tower to the Romans had been the royal palace of the Kingdom of Jorvik more recently, but even that was nearly twenty years ago. Now Jorvik belongs to the kingdom of the Anglish and Earl Oslac rules from Jorvik's tower.

   But the former glory of Jorvik isn't much on Olaf's mind as he traverses the smelly trash-filled streets. He's a large grizzly fellow with a huge red beard. He ducks into the dimly-lit interior of a tavern.
   "Ah there you are you old rogue!" his friend Knut jovially greats him, standing up from behind a table. Knut has trouble standing completely straight in the low room due to his immense height. He's not merely tall, and he's not fat, but he's big. Proportionately big. If you were to see him by himself you might not realize it, but when there's something at hand to scale him by one notices he's simply huge. His huge blonde beard does nothing to diminish his eternally good natured countenance however.
   Olaf smiles kind of sheepishly and then lets out a grumble as he seats himself. He waves over the serving girl and orders some mutton, bread, and ale.
   "So how's that chair coming along anyway?" asks Knut, taking a guess at the source of his friend's groans.
   "Oh, I've almost got it I think." says Olaf with determination. He's not a carpenter, but once beginning the project the goal oriented fellow will not let a simple stool get the better of him.
   "I'm going to make a stool that will last a thousand years!" he proclaims so loudly it startles a nearby man with a grey beard, one eye, and a broad brimmed hat, and then takes a large swig of his pine ale (hops would not be used in beer making in the country for more than another 400 years).

   Various finer points of viking stool making are discussed as the mutton and bread arrive. Knut, with stew dripping down his beard and a wooden spoon in one hand comments
   "You know, Olaf, you might feel better if you ate a vegetable now and then."
   "Bah!" scoffs Olaf "rabbit food never did a man any good! ... besides I have a better solution."
   "Whatsh that?" asks Knut with a leek hanging from his mouth
   Olaf produces a small round smooth stone. "It's a bezoar stone I bought at the market today. These things are supposed to cure any poison." Grizzly though he may look, Olaf has enough discretion not to go into detail at the dinner table about the intestinal discomfort he's been having lately. He plunks it proudly into his ale tankard and toasts with it.
   "They find those things in the guts of cows and other beasts don't they?" inquires Knut curiously, peering into Olaf's wooden tankard.
   "But how does it get there?" asks Olaf knowingly, "cows don't eat stones! It's the very embodiment of the spirits of digestion... or something!" he cavalierly declines to deeply study the theology behind it.
   "So.. you're going to swallow that??" asks Knut incredulously.
   "No, no, no, you just put it in your drink and its powers are absorbed by the ale," says Olaf, absently examining the joints on a nearby chair.

   A few hours and several tankards of ale later Olaf is stumbling home, when he feels the call of nature. He quickly ducks down an alley and squats over a muddy pool by the bank as his bowels begin to rumble. Maybe the magic stone is starting to work, he wonders. I don't mean to alarm you dear reader, but it's been a few days since he was last able to make a bowel movement. A noise erupts from his posterior that is so rude Olaf feels a little embarrassed, and somewhere nearby a small child begins to cry. His leaving quickly disappears into the muddy water. Olaf hurriedly pulls a handful of straw off the nearby roof thatch and wipes his rump with it, and then hurries into the night.




1972 AD, York - Startled archeologists excavating the future site of one "Lloyd's Bank," discover the oldest preserved human excrement, a nine inch long specimen that becomes known as the Lloyd's Bank Coprolite.
   Analysis reveals that the author of the famous turd ate primarily meat and grains with very little vegetable matter, and had a raging case of intestinal worms.



It is now on display at the Jorvik Viking Center museum, where it "has delighted generations of school children"

See Also: A video about the man who studied the turd, with much better images of it than I seem to be able to find floating about on the intertrons.
See Also: bezoars


Boring Historical Notes:
In 954 the last king of Jorvik, Erik Bloodaxe, was betrayed by his high reeve (chief sheriff) Osulf and murdered "in a lonely mountain pass." Osulf proceeded to administer the former kingdom on behalf of the King of Wessex, who by now controlled all of what would become England.
At this time Jorvik was the second most populous city of Britain, having more than a 1000 residents, and the accumulation of trash on the streets caused the ground level in the city to increase by an inch a year!

July 2025

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