Alas, Mrs. Beard's Pompeii had not the psychological depth of her Caesar video

And her characterization, as "masculine," of the Roman Empire, was silly and somewhat hysterical--in the too-familiar mode of over-wrought, insanely presumptuous white (Anglo-Saxon) ladies.  She got it right, however, about the fact (the very important fact) that there was as  yet, in the First Century A.D., in Magna Graecia, no malnourishment of the lower economic classes, and very little physical distance among people generally. Think Naples.  Somehow, being poor in Naples is not the hideous, inescapable stigma and affliction that it is elsewhere, and people seem not to be crushed by it. They stand quite up to you, look you engagingly but not threateningly in the eye--and they have pretty eyes.

¿What is the View from the Quai Voltaire?

What's actually  to be seen from the Quai Voltaire is the Quai Anatole France, which personnage, thus memorialized, to the embarrassment of many, is my Guide, Philosopher and Friend.  I went nuts in my late teens for Les Dieux ont Soif and L'Ile des Pinguoins, and, above all, la Révolte des Anges,  and I read all of Anatole France's stuff, even the journalism, and liked it, and very much liked and believed entirely credible Brousson's Anatole France en Pantoufles: There is mon cher Maître as I believe and understand him to have been, and yes, pretty much, those are the eyes I see things through.  And the Zola funeral speech, that is me--or I would hope it were me. ¿Am I the only one who notices that--in this damned important eulogy, which is meant as, and was at the time understood to be, a seditious thorn in the ass of the Sovereign Power of the Third French Republic (which was giving itself fits over the Dreyfuss Affair) but which is still after all for chrissakes a eulogy, at a man's obsequies--yet, so faithful  to the Latin Oversoul is our dear Maître, that he cannot in all conscience fail to mention that Zola wrote butt-ugly French prose? That's our man.  He is often  cited as having had the smallest normal brain ever recorded (posthumously weighed and measured)--and I believe he did. I think there wasn't enough room in it for sexual morality or the minutiae of how to behave at a funeral.

Julius Caesar Revealed: fuckin ayo wonderful

This lady knows her stuff, and is no uglier than she has to be--British teeth take some getting used to, c'est entendu, but when she gets into her entrancing story, you forget all about 'em.  I'm off now to see Mrs. Beard on Pompeii.

Palanquins?

Somehow, the very notion of them in everyday use, makes me a little, as Jewish girls (from Brooklyn) say, nauseous. Like, yes, sedan chairs and litters do also. But they (Palanquins) were the primary means of transportation for affluent townspeople in 17th century Japan.  Even Kabuki actors, commonly, went about in them, and stood them in rows around the restaurants of the resorts that they visited on holidays. So, what I wonder is ¿what is your supposed margin of subsistence for the two stout fellows who carry you around, whilst you dine sumptuously, with your fellow thespian whores and party-boys, on abalone and mochi, washed down with expensive Sake? Do they (those strong young men who carry your Palanquin) get tips? Do they catch naps while you have your supper?  Do they get scraps?

PBS Queen Victorias Empire Engines of Change

Wonderful PBS documentary--with a fabulous long episode about the Crystal Palace (so dear to our hearts, and so full of Passenger Liner Kami). At fucking last, a commentator who in his voice-over says, plainly, "Paxton's beautiful building."  Because it fucking was.