Treehouse Adventures Episode 1: The Monk on Racism and Lawyers

Posted: 3 May, 2011 in Daily Droppings
Tags: , , , , , ,

[If you lived at the Treehouse, or keep up with my Facebook, you may have seen this before]

The kitchen’s filled with cackling sounds and the smells of boiling coffee and frying bacon. They immieditly strike my nose, causing me to cough up last night’s tar.

— Morning, starshine, says Mike. He’s focused, not even looking up from his bacon. The man loves it so. I swear the fella could go right through a pound of the stuff in a couple three days. It’d be the death of him soon enough. —Rough night?
I growl and spit into the sink, run my mouth under the tap and spit again.

—Split a cure with me, Mikey? I ask him

—Nah, I’m fine, yeah.

I look back into the living/dining/whatever-the-fuck room. Austin’s on the couch.

—Cure, mate? I try

He looks up slowly enough so I know he aint in much better of a place than I am.

—Sure, he says.

He gets up and follows be back in the kitchen. I grab a can of Dos from the fridge and share it between two pint glasses. He takes out two eggs and give me one. We crack them into the lager, toss the shells, and clink glasses.

—Slainte, I say

The stuff goes down easily enough and the bubbling in my gut is already making me feel better. I head the other way toward the ‘breakfast nook’/movie room/formerly the dining room, but really just the place where Seamus plays video games. Aaron is there, that lecherous old monk, insisting on some new and useless and most-often outright absurd little factoid. He could turn just about anything into a questioning of your purpose or existence or whatever he was on about at the time. Looking at that clever little smile and nearly gleaming eyes, I could never really tell where the intelligence ended and the wisdom(or was it sheer madness) began.

He shaved his head and meditated daily, but his face grew long, he could out drink me (as last night had proven), and he moved his fair share amongst much younger women. For now, though, he seemed to be settled with Kylee.

He nods at me as I approach, just in time to hear:

—You see, anti-Semitism is really nothing to do with Jews, at least originally. Because the word Semitism actually comes from the Latin word “semant”, which means to debate or to argue. This is where we get the word “semantics”. In that particular time the Jews had a great reputation for their skill of rhetoric, as they spent countless hours of their lives in careful study of the Talmud and the Torah and could often be found on the temple steps just shooting the shit about Hebraic law. Very soon they found that their scholarly skills were in great demand by the Roman Empire who so desperately wanted a new and shiny version of a court system.

—When the Jews arrived in Rome – shipped over in the thousands on great ships generally only used for transporting livestock – they found themselves not on the receiving end of a bunch of nose jokes, but quite honored and even a little feared. After a few short years they began hearing people in the streets refer to them as Semites and their practice “semantics”. The Jews, not being ones to care about what a bunch of hedonistic pagans thought about God’s chosen people, simply ignored it.

—And time passed as it does for most of the time – except when the flash is on his cosmic treadmill or superman reverses the rotation of the earth – and the world reached an age where people came to resent lawyers for practicing law. By them the word for Jew and the word for Lawyer had become essentially interchangeable. So near the beginning of the 20th century when waves of “anti-Semitism” struck Europe, it was really not a race of people whom Stalin and Hitler were attempting to make short work of, but rather the undesirable ranks of lawyers. Unfortunately for a lot of honest decent god fearing families of bankers and diamond merchants, the uneducated and uncultured soldiers didn’t really distinguish between a Jew and a lawyer. And when the Jews protested their innocence, it really just became a matter of semantics.

By now the old monk’s got the ear of most of the house. Mike has even stopped eating his bacon. We exchange glances in silence for just a few moments. My head is fucking killing me off this.

And this is just how my mornings begin.

mmm…. Bacon.

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Comments
  1. Shane Gannaway says:

    that fucking monk…

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