Mythologies in chemistry

This semester I've been taking a chemistry class which to be honest I hate. I'm an English major and I'm only taking the class to fulfill my science requirement and convince my boyfriend I don't want to study science. It's a lot of memorization of facts I will never use beyond this school year.  Needless to say that I never thought I would find any connection between mythologies and chemistry. In my mind these two things are opposite. 

I was wrong. Myth really is the pre ident to every action

 

In chemistry there is an idea called entropy. Entropy is defined as the gradual movement towards disorder. Basically (if your un-sciency like me) if you drop a pot on the floor it will shatter and break in to a thousand pieces. Once it is broken some other force is going to have to be applied to it if it is going to go back to the shape of a pot. You would have to pick up the pieces, organize them, and then glue them back together. Which is a lot of work. If you throw all of the pieces in the air they are not magically going to become a pot again. You can make similar analogies using chemicals but this is easier to understand. 

The same thing happens in Ovid. The world generally falls towards disorder. If both the first and last chapter of Ovid the idea of a Golden Age is discussed. Living things lived together in harmony, there was no war, and nothing was forbidden in the Golden Age. Then something changed and the Silver age began. The world became less perfect, it became more disordered. Ovid follows the rule of entropy, or more accurately the idea of entropy comes from Ovid. 

My mythic detective skills must be improving. :-) 

Displacement

            In Anchorage, Alaska two members of the Native council, Zachary High Mountain and his son John Swift Feet, were deciding the fate of the village of Atqasuk. The two men had discovered that the land the village of Atqasuk was located on was originally designated as part of a preservation in bill 138, but had not been handed over to the Inupiaq people. Before consulting the government to claim the land as a preservation and as their home they decided to visit the village to see what already existed there.

            High Mountain and Swift Feet's bush plane landed on Atqasuk's tundra airstrip just as the sun was setting. It was nearing the end of summer so this was at 11 pm. The hours of daylight fluctuate greatly this far North so the bush pilot was able to land this late in the night on the bumpy natural airstrip. Leaving the three man plane, High Mountain and Swift Feet took their bags, and with a gesture from the pilot in the right direction, began the mile walk from the landing site to the village.

            Atqasuk wasn't the most prestigious place in Alaska. The population was just under two hundred and the homes were mostly disheveled sheds, log cabins, and the occasional quonset hut. There was a small brick store/church/bar combination at the center of the village with a sign saying “Jack's all purpose” in pealing green paint. By the time High Mountain and Swift Feet arrived at Jack's it was 6 minutes till midnight. Deciding this was probably the best place to inquire about where a hotel might be located, they walked in to the bar end of the building and gazed through the smoky atmosphere towards the round faced bartender.

            “Where might we find a room to rent for the night?” High Mountain asked, coughing a bit on the smoke.

            “Rent? What like a hotel? The hotel’s roof collapsed last winter when we had that huge snow load. You must not be from around here. If I were you I would just start knocking on huts and see if anyone has a cot for you to borrow. I’d let ya stay here but we close soon and no ones allowed in the bar when we close.” Said the round faced bartender as he dragged on a cigarette.

            “Well thank you for the advice… I guess we will just head out then.” High Mountain said before leaving the bartender to his smoke.

            Unsure as to where to start the two men walked to the first hut after the bar. Nearly tripping on a worn out leather boot on the front heap Swift Feet knocked twice at the door. An agitated voice could be heard from the inside of the hut mumbling and grumbling about the hour of the night. A short squat man with a hole in his left sock opened the door and growled in a voice like gravel “who are you and what do you want?”

            “My name is High Mountain and this is my son Swift Feet and we are travelers looking for a place to stay…” *SLAM* The door was shut in their faces.

            The two weary travelers tried two more doors with similar reactions before, nearly asleep and haggard from their travel they came to the end of the road. It had reached the point where High Mountain had decided to take the land from these arrogant people simply out of spite as soon as they got back to Anchorage. Just when they were about to give up Swift Feet saw a tiny sign attached to a spruce tree that said “Baxters” with an arrow pointing down a narrow trail. Following the sign they arrived at the most worn-down log cabin they had ever seen. Knocking once, softly Swift Feet stood on the stoop hoping someone would be home.             

            “Did you hear something Love?” It was a woman’s voice this time that spoke from within the cabin.

            “ME? You know I can’t hear one gosh darn thing! Was it someone at the door?” An elderly man’s voice spoke this time especially loud as if he truly was partially deaf.

            “Yes I think so, let me go check” she said. Several seconds later an elderly woman opened the door to see the two travelers standing on her stoop. “Why who might you be gentlemen? What brings you to my humble home this late at night?”

           “My name is High Mountain and this is my son Swift Feet and we are travelers looking for a place to stay…” He paused at this point expecting to have the door shut on his face but when she continued to stand there he continued. “We are visiting the village and apparently the hotel had been damaged and is closed. Is there any way we could borrow a couple cots and a tent to spend the night?”

            “Why my dears you have nothing to worry about! My name is Lisa and we accept travelers at all hours of the day and night. Come in you must be starving! I’ll get you something hot to drink while my husband Larry goes and sets you up a place in the loft. We have plenty of room if you don’t mind being cosy. Larry! Wake up you silly husband of mine! We have guests!”

            Relived and happy to have a place to stay High Mountain and Swift Feet sat down at the slightly tilted table. Lisa, aghast that her table was broken, took a small book and placed it under the shorter leg before serving the men up some tea.

            “So gentleman! What brings you to a place like this at such a late hour?” Said Larry a bit too loudly.

            “Well,” said High Mountain. “We are here from Anchorage to survey the land to turn it in to a reservation. All of the inhabitants would have to leave if this happened, which searves them right for all of the rudeness we have experienced in the last 2 hours. But after such hospitality you have given us I think my son and I agree that your home will not be included in the report. You are a wonderful couple and I would hate to make you leave this wonderful place you call home.”

            Indeed when High Mountain and Swift Feet returned to Anchorage to claim the land of their ancestors they made sure to leave the home of Larry and Lisa alone.                                 

Symbols and Signs

The story Symbols and Signs by Vladimir Nabokov felt like a complicated mystery novel with the last chapter cut out. The whole story seemed to be pointing to some big idea or message but I felt like I missed what exactly it was. If I were to guess I would say that the last phone call at the end of the story isn't a wrong number but someone calling to tell them their son had successfully committed suicide. In class Professor Sexson talked about how things come in threes in fairy tales (which are essentially myths). He said the first time its chance, the second coincidence, but the third is always design. Someone could have accidentally called the same wrong number twice but a third time is too much. The only other reason someone would call at such a late hour is to give them terrible news; that their son is dead. Also in the story the husband has a horrible dream that makes him want to take his son out of the asylum. He says "We must get him out of there quick. Otherwise, we’ll be responsible.... Responsible!” as if something terrible was going to happen to the boy if they did not act quickly.

If my mythic guessing above is actually right I am at a bit of a loss as to what all of the other little "trifles" (the little details that are so specific that they seem important) are pointing to. The jelly jars bug me the most. The story ends with the husband listing the kinds of jelly that are in the jars and he ends with crab apple. Why crab apple? My guess was that crab apples are sour and unpleasant like the news he is presumably getting with the third and final phone call.

So why did we read this sad story for a mythologies class? I think it was to train us in the ways of being a mythic detective. Detectives look for clues to solve a great mystery and this story was full of clues without a lot of answers. This story seemed to have the message that paying attention to details and coincidences is very important.

Diego Velazques

So we have talked about this painting for some time already in class but I will attempt to add my own incite.

This painting is a representation of the story in Ovid of Arachne and
Athena. The older looking woman on the right hand side of the image is Athena. She appears to be talking to the woman directly to the left of her who is holding the red curtain. Though initially I didn't think much of this I wonder if the one bright color in the painting might be significant. This might be an awareness of end of the story. The bright red is usually a symbol of blood and though Arachne doesn't die she is transformed in to a spider; a horrific result.
On the right side of the image are several other women who are in the process of spinning. Though I am unsure of which of the women is Arachne specifically I would guess that she is the one in the foreground wearing the dark blue shirt and white shirt.
Overall the front of the picture seems to be the process of spinning. The back of the picture seems to be a presentation of one of the tapestries. I would guess it is Arachne's tapestry because it is a large image with smaller images around the sides. Though the smaller images are unclear the larger one doesn't seem to depict anything that is flattering to the gods and goddesses. Again I am not sure who is who in the back of the painting.
Overall I can slightly understand why it took so long for people to see that this painting is actually about the story of Arachne. Velazques didn't include an image of Arachne in the form of a spider which is the result of the story.

Orpheus- Coincidence of Stones

"As he stretched out his hands, speaking ineffectually for the first time ever, not affecting them in any way with his voice, the impious ones murdered him: and the spirit, breathed out through that mouth to which stones listened, and which was understood by the senses of wild creatures – O, God! – vanished down the wind."

After reading the story of Orpheus and discussing it in class I was struck by one line in Ovid. It talked about how beautiful Orpheus's music was and mentioned that even the stones were awestruck listening to him. Even the stones. How amazing of a musician must a man be to entertain inanimate objects? Something that never notices anything about the world or moves or does anything, listens to Orpheus.

The quote I used above is actually about Orpheus's death but it proved my point. 

A week after hearing the story of Orpheus I was in the bathroom on the first floor of AJM and looked up to see a single white rock sitting on the counter. After wondering why the rock was sitting in such an odd location I though of Orpheus singing to the rocks. Though probably not the most inspiring of coincidences I reminded me of mythologies. Maybe next time I will try and sing to it and see if it listens.

I'm going to take a picture of it later and put it here....

  

My Pain Initiation- Pulling Teeth

So I found it fitting that we are currently studying the initiation portion of mythologies durring this moment in my life. Like many of you know I had my wisdom teeth taken out last Thursday. Though not a traditional pain initiation like those stories we heard and presented it did have an element of pain.
I have never liked the dentist so when I realized I needed this procedure done I was less then thrilled. Take my fear of dentists and add on my fear of needles (I choose full anesthesia so had to have an IV) and that basically sums up the joy of last week.
I don't remember much of that afternoon thanks to some wonderful drugs they pumped in to me. I vaguely remember looking for my boyfriend when I "woke up" (I was still pretty loopy) and having trouble talking. I don't really remember much else until I got home and was sitting in my bed looking down at the blood that I was apparently drooling on to my t-shirt. Basically gross. If you have never had your gums bleed I can tell you it is one of the slimiest feelings ever. I thought that head wounds bleed the most but I would argue that incisions in your mouth are worse because they are so hard to stop. I tasted blood consistently for 24 hrs at least and still have moments where I can taste it now, six days later.
Though my "initiation" was not nearly as extreme or as painful as those we have spoken about in class I do have a new respect for the women of the Mentawai tribe of West Sumatra who sharpen their teeth. They didn't have IV's or Vicodin or even advil to dull the pain, all of which was available for me to use. These women hurt themselves physically to look attractive; I went through a surgery because without it I wouldn't have room in my mouth for the extra teeth. For these women beauty really is pain. 

Vrs.