With eyes turning to Irish things, James Joyce comes to mind. His stream-of-consciousness prose brings to one's attention the amber hued liquid so 'enjoyed' by that ethnic demographic...like the amber hued orb on the walking stick of John Hammond. And then the Brundle Fly arises connected by Jeff Goldblum, and Scarface because of her. Yet the female connection is lost when Yeti the long haired denizen of the Himalayas, yet the Yeti, who would hardly speak English. That's the class that no one in America seems to take anymore, all the 'language arts' supplanting that designation that brought dread and a feeling of melancholy so great to the students trodding the hallways, so slowly like sloths in the jungle. The Jungle...mmm...steak, hamburgers, chops, warm grilling weather and the sounds of pool water splashed out by giggling, squealing children leaping into the humid air. But what of the chemistry to keep the water so pure? Once the field of mysticism, Alchemy...gold from lead, and the European proscriptions that led to Jews having names alluding to gold. The foil that covers six first stage LEMs on the lunar surface today, and one that burned up spraying gold molecules over such a vast area of the Earth so many years ago, the decade of the sixties ending in that year of the unlucky 13th mission to the Moon. 1970, April, a month of nastiness given Columbine, Hitler, Waco, Lincoln, Titanic, Tax Day and such. Months derived in etymologist's dreams from Rome and Greece, then usurped by Julius Caesar and Caesar Augustus.
