This post is Part 2 of a story I started yesterday. I can’t tell you what to do, but you’d be advised to read the first part first.

I’ve been going over the end of this story in my mind since last night and I realized that I stepped into a trap of my own design. I’m setting up Zelda as a femme fatale, which she absolutely was, but I’m not going to come off  well myself without some major historical revision. I like to keep these things as close to reality as my memory allows, which probably isn’t that close.

Before carrying on, there are some details to address. During the months of Zelda’s absence I had moved out of the four square into the gun cottage – I don’t know how she found out where I was living. At the haranguing of my friends, I had begun to ‘get over it’. I started dating again, using my coffee shop job as a personal dating agency. At the time of her unannounced return, in fact, I was dating a 19 year old sorority girl from South Carolina who looked and sounded a lot like Zelda without all the mystery, misery and annoying tendency to vanish.

I was bored.

But when Zelda turned up that night on my porch, I was a wiser man. I wasn’t going to be sucked back into a disastrous relationship. I would have that proffered drink (who was I to say no to a drink?) but that was it.

Let me quote from my diary at the time…

Back in my life, my bed, my heart is [Zelda]. Tall and beautiful and cold, she’s found a way to open my heart again. On a balmy winter night my bourbon soaked mind broke apart and gushed into her listening ears. So far, she’s been sweet. Her cold steel eyes are soft and inviting. She’s sane and easy.

I made her breakfast in bed the next morning. But still, I didn’t want to give up a healthy, albeit dull, relationship with a robust young South Carolinian for what I knew (somewhere in my reptile brain) was going to be pain and melodrama. Instead, I decided not to tell them about each other.

This was a manageable arrangement for a while. With Zelda, I went to gay bars and smoky basement clubs. With the sorority girl I went to formals and tailgates. There was never any reason for paths to cross. It went this way all through the winter and early spring – dating two girls, having my cake and eating it too.

There were moments – when my razor-sharp brain forgot which night I was meant to be with which girl. There was a Saturday lunch with Zelda, some friends and vodka martinis that got way out of hand.  We stumbled back to my place at about in the afternoon and collapsed into bed. There was a niggling memory in the back of my brain that the sorority girl was coming over for dinner and I couldn’t quite remember whether or not I had run interference of some sort. Zelda was out cold and I was…

I came to early Sunday morning with the crucifying headache that can only be caused by six or more martinis and a sense of something ominous in the room. I looked over and saw a tangled mess of curly mahogany hair, which could mean one of two women. A gently shove, a soft moan and I saw the softer features of the sorority girl. To this day, I don’t know where Zelda went or when. I guess that habit of vanishing wasn’t all bad after all.

All through these months, my friends were spending equal amounts of time laughing at my stories and warning me that it was an unsustainable situation. They all said the same thing – get rid of Zelda.

‘Are you still dating that crazy bitch from south Georgia?’

‘She’s just using you for a good time for a while, she’ll be gone again in a few months.’

‘What does she do, Chris? She doesn’t have a job. She doesn’t go to school. She just spends your money.’

As the spring got older, I was getting tired. I was at UGa full time, working full time and holding down two relationships. So, I finally made a decision.

I broke up with the sorority girl and invited Zelda to Florida for Spring Break. She was thrilled – a real vacation and for a while things were good. We started intermittently co-habitating – she moved clothes and makeup and that White Diamonds into my cottage.

After this decision, I was talking to a friend – a sweet little punk pixie from Savannah – who rang me up asking if I wanted to go out in Atlanta that night.I said no, that “I need to save momey for Florida. I need more than usual, because of Zelda and all.”

“No wonder she likes hanging out with you, Chris”, she spat back at me and rung off.

A week before the trip, on a Friday night, she wanted to go dance at the gay bar. I didn’t. The gay bar wasn’t that interesting to me. But I indulged the request and we were away. I sat at the bar drinking poofy drinks and watched Zelda dance with the queens. About 2, I was ready to go home. But Zelda wanted to go to an after party.

‘Just for a bit’, she soothed.

It had been a hellish week – exams, overtime at work and I demurred. “But, you’ll come back to my place after. Right.”

She kissed me deeply, gave me the full brunt of her cold grey eyes and said, “Just give me an hour and I’m all yours.”

I sat up drinking expectantly for an hour. Then drinking worriedly for another hour. Finally, I drank angrily until the sun came up. I threw all of her clothes and makeup into a garbage bag and put it at the end of my drive.

I was awoken at noon by the sound of broken glass and screaming. Zelda was systematically smashing my windows with a tire iron and screaming obscenities. I suggested that she fuck off and not come back. She expressed that she was perfectly fine with that and – breaking one last window on the way – fucked off.

By nightfall, she was back – composed and bearing a full bottle of Maker’s Mark, some clear plastic sheeting, a roll of duct tape and a bucketful of abashed contrition.

We went to Florida anyway. Me seething resentment through endless miles of south Georgia. Her sleeping. We took the long way down, stopping in Albany for a night to pick up camping gear from her mother’s house. I had visions, largely painted by Zelda, of a southern manor – all stately oaks and Greek columns. Her Mom lived in a double-wide on a half acre pine thicket outside of Albany. She chain smoked Virginia Slims, washed down Valium with Old Crow and spoke of lost beaus and phantom illnesses. Looking at her, I saw Zelda in a couple of decades and the artifice of the relationship that I had created.

We camped on St. George Island for a couple of days and then skirted the swampy armpit of Florida on the way down to Ybor City. By the time we arrived, I was done with the trip. I’d been driving for three days without any help from my passenger. She spent most of her time sleeping or bitching and I spent most of my time drinking and driving. Somewhere along that drive I had an epiphany. Again, from my diary at the time…

After meeting her Mom, I can’t fathom a long term relationship with [Zelda]. After this trip, I can’t imagine much of a short term.

I’ve never been very good at breaking up with people. That night in Ybor City we scored some coke, which she didn’t want to do, and hit the bars. Out of my mind on cocaine and rum punch, I decided that what was good for the goose was good for the gander. That night, I treated her the way that I perceived she had treated me throughout our intermittent relationship. I was cold. I flirted with other women. I danced half the night with a Cuban woman that couldn’t speak any English. When Zelda was ready to go, I tossed her a rolled twenty and told her to take a cab.

The trip back was even longer and dead silent. I pulled an all day drive and got us back to Athens just before midnight. She fell asleep on my couch as soon as we walked in the door and I left her there and went to bed.

The next morning, she and all her meager belongings were gone. Except for a note, scrawled in her manic, looping script.

“I know you don’t believe it, but I loved you. As much as I could.”

I crumpled up the paper and threw it in the trash.

That wasn’t enough then and it’s never been enough since.

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Image credits:

Femme Fatale I, II and III are by Karen Dupré. Images from art.com.

R.E.M.’s “Chronic Town/Dead Letter Office” is available from Amazon.

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To start off with I think we need to define some territory. Firstly, I was born in Australia, as were my parents, my grandparents, and their parents, and I’m proud of that and Australia is my home.  But, like most Australians, I’m also British – my relatives were from Scotland (on both sides), Yorkshire and Cornwall.  Scotland’s in my blood and comes out in lots of good ways (I can hold my drink, like the cold and know how to have a laugh) and bad ways (I’m tight with money and have a strong tendency towards stomach fat).  I also make a mean pasty.  Aside from this I’m also a flag waving socialist.  Put it down to too many Labor sub-branch meetings in my formative years and a penchant for Billy Bragg records.

Secondly, there are lots of things I like about The United States of America (hereafter referred to as America to save my wee fingers):

1. The Met
2. The New York Review of Books
3. Pavement and Bob Dylan

… are just a few. Thirdly, there are also lot of things I don’t like about America:

1. Many of the accents (yeah, I know, like I can talk).
2. When their governments are conservative they’re conservative.
3. Their lateness in joining the war (I get this one from my father).

…. are also a few.Fourth, I have had only two American friends in my life, but they were good friends.  One when I was living in Paris, and one when I was living in London, so on both occasions they were out of their natural habitat.  I have never been to America.

So there we have it.  That’s my cultural baggage.

I would also like to note when I talk about ‘America’ or ‘American’ here, I’m talking about the machine of government and industry.  Not you, not your dad, not your best friend, not the guy in the office you talk to over coffee.  Just like when we talk about Cambodia and the killing fields, or Australia and Indigenous health.
But now I’m going to talk about something totally separate from American, or Australia.  The Euro (stick with me here).  I know that travelling through Europe is now easier with a common currency and trade is easier and all is well and happy with the world.

I hate the Euro. Really, really hate it.

And despite the fact I know it’s unhealthy to hate a currency, I have total faith in my reasons.  For me, as the tourist, the joy of looking at the new money, and getting the feel of it, ordering my pizza with lira, my escargot with francs and tapas with pesos is gone.  But I really do believe there will be a flow on effect for Europeans.  I bet if you ask a Brit, or a Chinese or an American or an Australian what’s on their 10 dollar/pound/yuan note – they can have a fairly good stab at it (ours is Banjo Paterson wearing a rather sterling hat).  When the Romans wanted to impose their rule on conquered nations one of the first things they did was mint a Caesar on the coins.  It imposed their reference points on the empire and removed something that everyone used every day that helped to define their collective identity.

So, when AFM asked me what I thought of American consumerism in Australia there was a lot to consider – and trust me I’ve written a million drafts of this.  But I think the Euro is a nice illustration.  I see large, multinationals trying to do to us what the Romans did to Gaul.  But instead of sesterces they’re using burgers, cola drinks and Muzak infused shopping centres.

Obviously not all multinationals are American, but I can see Australia changing.  What we eat, what we wear, how we amuse ourselves, what’s on the telly, the music we listen to etc etc – and America does seem to be the dominating influence.  Not surprising: it’s a big, powerful nation full of human beings and human beings are innately greedy.  Sell! Sell! Sell!  I believe strongly in the old adage about camels and needles.  Money is the route of all evil.  And American consumerism seems to put the accumulation of money above all else.

Then there’s our heath care and education systems, lordy help us if we go down the user-pays path there.  Our PM following the man who seems to be roundly considered by Americans to be the worst president ever into conflicts of dubious origin is not a positive indicator either.

But how do companies, any company, convince us to spend our hard earned cash on their particular gee-gaw or doobie-what’s-it.  As far as I can tell marketing seems to regularly focus on the fact that we’re not particularly good/cool/thin/attractive/successful if we don’t have their product.  To me, the might of America seems to be doing this to poor, dim-witted Australia.  The pimply, lanky kid in the corner, we’re being convinced our lifestyle, products and habits aren’t up to scratch.  Kids don’t want to go the chippy for Friday night dinners anymore.  Advertising has convinced them that McDonalds is more fun.  God knows it can’t be the food that’s the drawcard.  We have lots of things uniquely Australian and yet we’re passing them over for stuff from somewhere else.

And so Gaul becomes less Gaulish and the whole world is slowly becoming Roman.

And the only people we have to blame are ourselves.  Stand up for yourselves Australia. Don’t let that other guy convince you that our way is not good enough.  Stop being so lazy, and easily lead and look around you and recognise that what you have is worthwhile.  Not always perfect, but worthwhile.  I say the same thing to the residents of India, Ethiopia, Turkey and Peru.  Diversity is what makes the world wonderful, don’t let it be stamped out by a couple of NYC suits with mansions on the coast.  And when America falls (as it will, reference again the Caesars) don’t let the next guy do it either.

You’ll notice there are a lot of food references in here.  It’s tea time and I’m starving.  I also write a food blog so it’s quite ironic that I’m writing this now.  But anyway you’re all invited around to my place on Australia Day for BBQ snags, a slab of Coopers Pale, and a big fat pav for dessert.  No burgers allowed!

But as this post is now almost as long as an undergraduate tutorial paper I will end by saying that I saw an advertisement on the telly recently for cake mixture.  With new and improved ‘frosting’.  I rest my case.

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Well there you go. Americans? Australians? What do y’all think? Is America the Rome of the 21st Century?

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This live version of Pavement’s “Unfair” comes from a show in Missoula, Montana in 1997. Buy the studio album from whence it came – “Crooked Rain, Crooked Rain” -  from .

Image credits:

Australians

More Australians

Australia’s Interior

Aussie Food

Most of my interviewing lately has been of bands and posted over at A Free Man. But I haven’t abandoned the format on this site and I’ve got a cracker for you today!

I am a huge fan of podcasts. I listen to all my favorite American radio programs as podcasts, which helps to assuage the occasional homesickness of an expatriate. I’ve found tons of other podcasts as well, radio programs all over the world to guys in their basements with a computer and a microphone.

I though it would be fun to interview one of those podcasters that falls into that latter class and has something interesting to say. One of my favorites is Mike Duncan’s “The History of Rome”. I’m a little bit of a history buff, particularly the American Civil War – fascinating time. But history is not a particular passion of mine, especially the dry, humorless academic history that you often run across. So, the first time I listened to Duncan’s podcast I was flabbergasted. This fellow took what could be a really dull topic and made it not only interesting but strangely addictive. It’s hard for me to put my finger on what it is that Duncan does, but he speaks plainly and brings in the occasional pop culture reference to keep the casual listener coming back. For example, in one episode about the Roman war with Pyrrhus he describes the way in which the Romans defeated the Greek war elephants by comparing it with the the technique that the rebel snow speeders used against the Imperial AT-ATs in “The Empire Strikes Back”. Brilliant.

Mike Duncan, purveyor of “The History of Rome”, was nice enough to sit down on the virtual couch to answer some questions. We had a great interview topics ranging from which American president would have been the best Roman emperor to “Shoeless” Joe Jackson and the Baseball Hall of Fame…

AFM: I can see by your profile that you studied politics and philosophy in university. What inspired you to make the transition to history for your podcast?

MD: The History of Rome was conceived in one of those “This is so cool, I want to do something like this” moments after I discovered 12 Byzantine Rulers by Lars Brownworth. I usually don’t act on those impulses (I am not, for example, a world class banjo player nor a master of Brazilian juijitsu), but for some reason the idea of producing a podcast stuck and I couldn’t shake it. I was in the middle of The War with Hannibal by Livy at the time and became enamoured with the idea of doing a weekly show dedicated to tracing Roman History from start to finish. I don’t think I had any idea what I was getting myself into.

AFM: I’m still playing catch-up on your podcast, but I know you’re up to the Second Punic War which is in the 200s B.C.? How much longer will it take you to get to the fall of the empire? Will you take us that far?

MD: I’m committed to seeing it through to the end. We should be able to get to the abdication of Romulus Augustulus by Christmas 08 (but I only say that to keep morale up – I know it’s going to run longer than that).

AFM: I think the reasons that your podcast work so well is that you keep them short (about a quarter of an hour) use laymen’s terms and tease at the end for the next episode. How did you come up with this formula? Why do you think that your podcast has succeeded where many a Western Civ professor has failed?

MD: I don’t want to lump all history professors together, but on the whole they seem to be a dry and humourless lot. I tend to sprinkle my lectures (if you can even call them that) with jokes and deadpan pop culture references. If you can get someone laughing along with you they are far more likely to pay attention and retain the information. I cannot fathom why history classes are predominated by dry recitations of names and dates. History is fun!

The teasers at the end of each episode sprang from a desire to keep people in the loop about where the story was headed. Any dramatic flare that keeps the people coming back for more is purely coincidental ; ).

AFM: Podcasts are (wonderfully) free and I don’t think you run ads on yours. I presume then, that The History of Rome isn’t paying your mortgage. What’s your day job?

MD: The History of Rome is and will remain ad-free so I get up every morning and go to work for Bob’s Red Mill Natural Foods Inc. Whole Grains for Every Meal of the Day!

AFM:Now is the time when we get to the wildly speculative part of the interview – my favorite part. In one of your podcasts, you called Cincinnatus the Roman George Washington. Which historical Roman leader is the most similar to the following contemporary politicians and why:

a. Bill Clinton: A far more shallow version of Cicero – great orator and master politician.
b. Hilary Clinton: Aggripina – the patron saint of ruthless female politicians.
c. John McCain: Pompey – the aging ex-military hero in way over his head.
d. Barack Obama: Vespasian – a conciliatory pragmatist who stabilized the Empire after a period of intense partisan strife.
e. George W Bush (say Nero, c’mon say Nero!): Sorry, I gotta go with Commodus – the failed brat son of a relatively benign Emperor. The beginning of the end…

AFM: I recently read this slightly strange article in the Globalist by Michael Lind comparing the U.S with the Roman Empire. If you were forced to compare the modern U.S. with ancient Rome, where would we be in the timeline of the Empire?

MD: I usually only get into this kind of stuff after three beers, but here we go: It seems pretty clear we’re post-Carthage but pre-Caesar. Unfortunately we have already made the critical transition from a conscription army to a professional (and increasingly private) army, so that puts us closer to Caesar than we may be willing to admit.

Plus, we are witnessing a consolidation of power in the hands of an increasingly myopic super-elite in Washington that parallels the stranglehold on power wealthy patrician Senators had achieved near the end of the Republic (which left the door wide open for a populist demagogue to step in and declare war on the corrupt oligarchs). I’m not sure if the Bush/Clinton thing is exactly Marius and Sulla, but it’s pretty dang close, which means young Caesar is running around somewhere…

AFM: Which historical Roman leader would be the best President of the U.S. in 2008?

MD: I think we need a Hadrian. He recognized the implicit danger of Imperial overreach, swallowed Roman pride and pulled back from the territory Trajan had so recently conquered. He took a beating for it, but it ensured the survival of the Empire. As a bonus – the territory he recognized as being too costly to incorporate into the Empire was Mesopotamia. The more things change…

AFM: Which American politician (living or dead) would have made the best Roman Emperor?

MD: Well, George Washington obviously would have done just fine, but he explicitly rejected the idea. I think either of the Roosevelts would have done a good job. Both had the requisite mix of vision, arrogance and political savvy to pull it off. Other than that it’s slim pickings (good Emperors are hard to come by…just ask the Romans).

AFM: What lesson that the Romans learned during their fall should we be bearing in mind today?

MD: Beware of charismatic populists leading private armies. Remember kids: today’s private contractors are tomorrow’s Legion XIII.

AFM: For your BONUS question, I know that you’re a baseball fan so which, if any, of these players belong in the Hall of Fame – “Shoeless” Joe Jackson, Pete Rose or Barry Bonds?

MD: Shoeless Joe Jackson should not be in the Hall of Fame- the romance of his tragic banishment is too compelling. Justice would only destroy a much needed myth. What’s next? Admit the existence of the Iowa Baseball Confederacy?

Pete Rose should be voted into the Hall of Fame, but only after he dies. That seems like a fair compromise.

Barry Bonds (and Palmeiro, Clemens et al)… Ug. I’ve thought a lot about it and decided that if their careers warrant it (and Bonds’s certainly does) they should go in. There is just no way to know who did what and too much grey area to draw a line in the sand and say “You cheated. You’re cool. You cheated. You’re cool.” Major League Baseball did this to itself and should be forced to live with the consequences. If we start cherry picking players for non-admittance the Steroid Era will forever be an open wound and we’ll never get past it.

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Thanks for playing along, Mike, particularly with the wildly speculative – and thus, most fun, part of the interview. Mike’s stellar podcast “The History of Rome” is available for free from , “The History of Rome” website or any number of other podcast sites. Definitely worth checking out!