The Legal Satyricon

Disclaimer: I am trademark counsel to Ryca Motors.
Super Brag: I am trademark counsel to Ryca Motors.

By J. DeVoy

…And now they don’t have a presence on Dr. Who: Jenna-Louise Coleman will be replacing Karen Gillan, the ginger who plays Amy Pond on the long-running BBC documentary program.  Soon, the show will be cured of gingervitis.

For those of you who do not know much about the show, the last full season is now available for streaming on NetFlix.  Matt Smith is my favorite Doctor yet, and Steven Moffat took the entire season in a brilliant direction, with each turn as wonderful as it was condescending to the viewer.  While Amy Pond was necessary for the sixth season to make sense, her schtick is old and possesses too many typically modern-British PC overtones.  Thus, I’m thrilled to see her leave.  But despite her faults – and there are many – season 6 of Dr. Who remains some of the best television I’ve ever seen.  What the British receive as public programming rivals the best premium cable in the US, and often surpasses it.

Anti-ginger sentiment is a recurring theme in the rebooted series; upon regenerating from the 10th to the 11th Doctor (from Tennant to Smith), the Doctor remarks, with relief: “[I'm still not ginger!"

Also, think disdain for gingers is unnecessary? Think again.

H/T D. Wells

And so does Rogier Van Bakel over at Nobody’s Business. No sense in me writing about them when he covers every single base, here.

Being greatly upset does not give you the higher moral ground. It does not earn you automatic respect. It’s exactly the opposite for me: Play the “I’m really upset” card as if it means anything — an attempted plea for sympathy usually made by hypocrites and weasels — and you will earn my enmity and scorn. Claiming that intemperate words can hurt just as much as bullets or blades is, after all, the same lame “argument” that religious crybabies of various stripes love making. Improbably enough, they believe that they somehow have the right not to have their feelings hurt. (source).

Of course, I guess if you’re going to have hate crime legislation at all, it oughta include protection for goths.

Ariel Kaminer, The New York Times’ “Ethicist” throws down the gauntlet at carnivores — challenging us to come up with an ethical argument for eating animals.

[Carnivores say] they love meat or that meat is deeply ingrained in our habit or culture or cuisine or that it’s nutritious or that it’s just part of the natural order. Some of the more conscientious carnivores have devoted themselves to enhancing the lives of livestock, by improving what those animals eat, how they live and how they are killed. But few have tried to answer the fundamental ethical issue: Whether it is right to eat animals in the first place, at least when human survival is not at stake.

So today we announce a nationwide contest for the omnivorous readers of The New York Times. We invite you to make the strongest possible case for this most basic of daily practices. (Source)

The “challenge” is bullshit.

The fact is, there is only one rational answer to “why do you eat meat?” The answer is “because fuck you, that’s why.”

I don’t say this in jest or irreverence (ok, a little irreverence). I say this because I freely admit that there is no “ethical” justification for eating animals. In fact, it doesn’t even make sense to do so even if they were voluntarily offering themselves up for consumption — well, at least when it comes to land-based animals.

A recent study says that processed or not, red meat is more unhealthy than we previously thought. (source) Red meat is, indeed, awful for you. Pork is no better. Chicken seems to be a pretty “clean” source of protein, but if you know anything about where your chicken comes from, you might puke at the thought of it. Fish? Well, that’s at least a lovely clean source of protein, so I will support the eating of fish as a rational decision — as long as it is wild caught and not that farm raised garbage.

But, the challenge isn’t to come up with a healthy explanation, the challenge is to beat back the moral argument against meat. As The Smiths said, “meat is murder.” It is. You kill another fellow animal just because its dead flesh feels good on your tongue. That may not seem to be the right choice for you. If you agree, you’re in great company. There are some pretty compelling role models on the no-meat side of the equation. Ovid, Leonardo DaVinci, H.G. Wells, Kafka, Plato, Mark Twain, Isaac Newton, Thomas Edison, Henry David Thoreau, all were vegetarians. Closer to home, three guys I think the world of are vegetarians: Eric Goldman, Venkat Balasubramani, and Jon Katz are all no-meat guys.

Jon Katz presented a very thought provoking piece on how the U.S. v. Stevens case should make us consider our position on eating animals.

I wish for Stevens to be an opportunity not only to celebrate and strengthen the First Amendment, but also for people to re-examine their relationship with and treatment of all animals, both of different species and their own species. Human rights violations continue running too rampant worldwide. Too many people accept violence and the threat of violence as normal for controlling others, for flexing muscle, and for carrying out their daily activities. The human-on-human violence and threats of violence include parents who hit their children lightly or more brutally, police and soldiers who lose a sense of self control over their power to arrest and shoot, governments that mass arms and soldiers, street criminals, and the list goes on.

Physical violence is not the only blight on society. To be sure, a lack of general compassion towards all causes much harm in society, and too often leads to physical violence. (source)

Here’s a hell of a short film showing the horrors of the meat industry.

So lets recap: Eating meat is bad for you. Lots of really smart people decided to be vegetarians. Eating meat is cruel. And, if you ask me to come up with an ethical argument as to why I still eat our furry friends, I got nothing for The Ethicist.

In light of all the authority screaming at me to eat nothing but sunflower seeds and tofu, I still exercise my right to choose to eat a nice rare ribeye with a heaping helping of foie gras on top. I can’t argue that meat is good for me. I can’t credibly argue that it is the “right thing to do.” I can’t credibly argue that choosing vegetarianism would be an impediment to my success or happiness.

Nevertheless, I just don’t feel like my genes went through billions of years of evolution, to get to the top of the food chain, without really enjoying the view. I eat anything I damn well please. And, unless it is super-duper bad for me (like Dolphins — full of mercury) then I’m eating it.

I just love the way animals taste.

And I get to make that choice.

So, to The Ethicist, here’s my argument: “Because fuck you, that’s why.” I know its bad for me. So is smoking cigarettes, snorting cocaine, and working so much that I am a screaming ball of stress all the time. I choose not to smoke cigarettes or snort cocaine. I choose to eat meat and to work all the time. I choose to drive a car that gets 10 miles to the gallon because I like having 771 horsepower and 900 ft. lb. of torque at my command. I don’t need an ethical justification to do, or not do, any of those things.

I just get to make that choice. Now, Mr. Ethicist, mind your own business about what I eat. You go eat your twigs and rocks, and I’ll eat my veal. Unless you can come up with some valid argument as to how my eating meat harms another human being, then the default is that it is ethical, so I win. Either that, or just “fuck you, that’s why.”

Today is St. Joseph’s day. In Italy, they treat it like father’s day (naturally, as San Giuseppe is the patron saint of fatherhood). In my family, this day was another excuse to eat together. My sister tells me that during World War II, my Great-Grandmother made a deal with San Giuseppe that she would celebrate his day every year if all her boys came back safely. I think my sister mixed that up with the Mother of Grace Club, but all the boys came back nevertheless.

I figured I would share the recipe for St. Joseph’s Day Beista (that’s Sicilian dialect for “Pasta”).

Viva San Giuseppe!

1 Cans of Chick Peas
1 Can of cannellini beans (although fava beans are more traditional)
2 Heads of fresh fennel — just the tops above the bulbs
1 Head of Cauliflower
1 Stalk of Broccoli
5 Cloves of Garlic
1 teaspoon of salt
1 tablespoon of pepper
1/4 cup of olive oil
1 Pound of Pasta – preferably broad home-made wide noodles. If you can’t make your own noodles, egg noodles, ditalini, or orzo will do.
1/2 pound ground parmesan cheese

Directions: Wicked easy.

Boil the Pasta until it is done and set aside.

Fill a large pot with a little water with the oil. Chop up the Cauliflower, Broccoli, Garlic, Fennel (saving the bulbs to eat later) and toss in the pot. Boil them. When they have boiled for a few minutes, throw in the can of Chick Peas and the pasta. Make sure there is enough water so that the concoction is a soup, not a pasta with a sauce.

Serve and eat with parmesan cheese sprinkled over the top. I always use tons of cheese myself. So much that I would always get yelled at.

Feel free to tinker with the ratios. I tend to like it to be heavy on the cauliflower, but light on the broccoli.

Note: San Giuseppe is also the patron saint of home buyers and home sellers. So, maybe there should be a whole lotta people out there who give the old Italian Pagan/Catholic thing a try before our home values tank even more.

“Too much and too long, we seem to have surrendered community excellence and community values in the mere accumulation of material things. Our gross national product … if we should judge America by that — counts air pollution and cigarette advertising, and ambulances to clear our highways of carnage. It counts special locks for our doors and the jails for those who break them. It counts the destruction of our redwoods and the loss of our natural wonder in chaotic sprawl. It counts napalm and the cost of a nuclear warhead, and armored cars for police who fight riots in our streets. It counts Whitman’s rifle and Speck’s knife, and the television programs which glorify violence in order to sell toys to our children.

“Yet the gross national product does not allow for the health of our children, the quality of their education, or the joy of their play. It does not include the beauty of our poetry or the strength of our marriages; the intelligence of our public debate or the integrity of our public officials. It measures neither our wit nor our courage; neither our wisdom nor our learning; neither our compassion nor our devotion to our country; it measures everything, in short, except that which makes life worthwhile. And it tells us everything about America except why we are proud that we are Americans.”

– Robert F. Kennedy, March 18, 1968

Irish is, without a doubt, the dominant immigrant culture in Massachusetts. Growing up there, in a town where Sicilians were the plurality, St. Patrick’s Day was always a little underwhelming. Instead, we celebrated St. Joseph’s day on March 19. Of course, every St. Joseph’s Day, someone would bring up the old story that St. Patrick’s day should be “our” day too — since St. Patrick was really Italian. We wanted to believe it, so we did.

Every year, articles pop up repeating the story that St. Patrick was really Italian. Even GoErie.com repeats the tale.

St. Patrick was born around 432 AD and died around 461 AD. He was Italian not Irish. Story is that St. Patrick was kidnapped at age 16 from Rome and brought to Ireland as a slave. (source)

Reviewing multiple sources finds conflicting stories of St. Patrick being born as early as 370 and dying around 460 AD. He was born Maewyn Succat. A number of sources say he was born in either Scotland or in Wales to parents Calpurnius and Conchessa, who were reportedly high status Romans.

Given the time periods in play, it is certainly likely that there would be high ranking Romans in Britain at that time. However, at that time, being “Roman” didn’t necessarily mean that one came from Rome.

For centuries before Maewyn’s birth, the concept of being a Roman expanded beyond the narrow definition it had in the early Republic. In 212 AD, Emperor Carcalla issued the Constitutio Antoniniana, which granted Roman citizenship to all free men in the Empire. Even before that, select groups of conquered peoples and powerful and important rulers of conquered lands were often granted full Roman citizenship.

So, it seems that Maewyn Succat was most likely a Roman. But, he could have been “Roman,” without possessing have a single strand of DNA originating from from the Italian peninsula.

Nevertheless, for the sake of argument, lets just assume that his family came from ancient Patrician blood, and that his parents were born in the shadow of the Colosseum. While this is entirely unlikely, lets say that’s how it was — and therefore, little Maewyn Succat was so Roman that he bled eagle blood and preferred his wine mixed with wolf’s milk.

Does that make him Italian?

One problem with claiming him as Italian is the difficulty of accurately defining “Italian.” What we now call “Italians” are really a mixture of a diverse ebb and flow of ethnicities made up of pre-Roman populations like the Etruscans, who later mixed with various Celts, Greeks, Germanic tribes. Sicily? Don’t even get me started. “Italy” as a nation didn’t even exist as an idea until the Risorgimento in the 1800s.

Back then, some like Austrian Prince Metternich angrily declared that Italy was nothing more than a “geographical expression.” Those who drove the Risorgimento would have found this insulting, but after Italy gained unification and independence, Massimo d’Azeglio seemed to affirm it by writing “we have made Italy; now we must make Italians.”

At the time of reunification, only about 3% of “Italians” spoke Italian. Even the King, Vittorio Emanuele, barely spoke it. Even today, much of Italy communicates in regional dialects at home, which are often mutually unintelligible.

So I suppose the answer is this: St. Patrick was likely Roman of some color or another. It is unlikely that he was Roman under the definition used by Italians who try and claim him. It is very likely that little Maewyn was actually some kind of Gaul. Even if he was as Roman as Marc Antony, most Italians trying to claim him as their very own have a somewhat loose grip on their own connection to the Romans as their ancestors.

It seems that the Irish should be permitted to maintain their claim over Maewyn Succat. Not that he was Irish either. But, if his historical significance is that he was an important missionary in Ireland, and he died there, well then they can have him.

The only thing they can’t have is the story about him banishing the snakes from Ireland. That’s not true. Glaciers did it almost 10,000 years before St. Patrick was born. (source)

So, this St. Patrick’s Day, the correct thing to shout is Erin go Bragh, and not Viva Italia.