Academic medievalists who read this blog have probably already gotten three links to this.* For those not toiling in the groves of academe, here’s what the ivory tower intellectuals are sniggering at, a little movie called “Introducing the Book“: [UPDATE: As always, good stuff disappears from YouTube. The original file is gone, and I’m not going to keep updating this page with the new link. Instead, just do a search at YouTube for “Introducing the Book”]

And for something that the academics probably aren’t reading, see the Awful Guide to Graduate School at SomethingAwful.com. My favorite bit is from the section about the GRE:

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*And by the time they remember this only occasionally updated blog, they probably won’t be able to use the internet, as their university’s servers will be clogged by people forwarding forwarded forwards of it–so, enjoy unrestricted access, Non-University Got Medievalites, all two of you!

Screw the plush plague molecule. Get me this instead next Christmas:

It’s a stained glass case for a computer. I just saw it over at BoingBoing.net. I can think of nothing better to play Medieval II with.*

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*Oh, yeah, you’re going to need to get me the game, too.

When people ask what I study, I used to say, “Medieval Studies.” This is a horrible answer, even though it’s the name of my department, because it’s like saying “I study studies. You know, the medieval kind.” And the person who asked would usually say in response, “Oh, is that like medieval history? I’ve always been fascinated by medieval history…” and I’d have to explain that I mostly study medieval literature, rather than straight history.

This is why now, when asked what I study, I say, “medieval literature.” This allows my interlocutor to confidently respond, “Ah, yes, medieval history. I’ve always been fascinated by medieval history” and to subsequently introduce me to their spouse and any other party guests who wander by as “the medieval historian I was just talking to.”

The term ‘medievalist’ eventually sinks in with most of the people who I talk to regularly, though with the majority of them even I’m pretty sure they mean ‘medieval historian’ when they say it.

But I do have a few good friends who seem to get what I’m all about. Two in particular sent me a belated Christmas gift in the mail last week. Consider this installment two in the “What to Get the Medieval Historian Who Has Everything” series:

I’ve been telling people for years, “I love the Black Death, but it is neither large enough for most household uses nor sufficiently plush.” Finally, they listened and made a giant plush plague bacterium. Available at www.GiantMicrobes.com and wherever fine goods are sold. I really like mine.

Whenever I need reminding why I study the Middle Ages–and when you’re knee-deep in thesis, you need a lot of reminding–I go to the Aberdeen Bestiary. For the non-medievalists who are here because of my occasional posts about Britney Spear’s vagina,* a bestiary is a book about beasts that medieval people used when they needed to know how a given animal signified Christ in some way.** Christ-signification notwithstanding, the medieval account of any animal you care to name is much more interesting than what you’ll find in today’s fact-obsessed encyclopediums and nature programs.

For instance, take the beaver. Modern beavers have a pretty good rep, I have to admit. They are industrious. They build dams. On occasion, they befriend children who’ve wandered nearby and serve them tea and rolls. If frightened, they might say something cute like, “Oh, my ears and whiskers, we’re out of rolls. Perhaps you’d like me to gnaw down a tree for you?”

Figure 1 — A pair of modern beavers

Now consider the medieval beaver. His testicles are valued for their medicinal properties. Knowing this, when he sees a hunter, he does not offer him a jam sandwich. He’s a man of action. Here’s the Latin first***: Quia cum vena torem se insequentem conovit, morsu testiculos sibi abscidit, et in faciem vena toris eos proicit et sic fugiens evadit. Yes, Virginia, when dealing with enterprising hunters, the medieval beaver bites off his own testicles and throws them at the hunter’s face.**** And lest you worry that this is, at best, a one-time-use defense, should it meet another hunter, the beaver lifts its legs to show the hunter that it has no testicles, so that the hunter will, naturally, lose interest.

Figure 2: A far superior beaver

Now, granted, this medieval picture of a beaver lacks many of the characteristics that a beaver actually has, like the buck teeth or the big flat river-slapping tail. But if you’re going to have to make a choice between drawing an “accurate” beaver and drawing one ripping off its own testicles, I think the right decision is clear. So what if the end-result is some sort of cloven-hooved wolf? Give the people what they want.

Of course, this raises larger questions, particularly with Mr. and Mrs. Beaver, alluded to earlier, from C.S. Lewis’s Narnia books. C.S. Lewis was a medievalist and a pretty good one at that. It’s impossible for me to believe that when he and Tolkien were trading ideas at the pub the subject of the testicular hijinks of the medieval beaver didn’t come up at least once a month. Yet he chose not to mention it when he started writing medieval-inspired beaver fantasy novels. It boggles the mind. Five minutes after reading it, I told everyone I’d ever met. Yes, my sixth grade teacher was a little confused about a 2AM call to discuss beaver genitals, but she came around. And now she has people to call, too.

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*I haven’t actually posted that one yet [UPDATE: I did!], but did you know that Google searches for the month of January were dominated by Britney Spears’ vagina? You don’t get to be history blog of the week without adding a few good Google search baits to your blog. Incidentally, don’t you enjoy watching Paris Hilton fight the I.R.S. over the Super Bowl’s use of Viagra to overcome American Idol’s obvious Harry Potter obsession? Also, boobs.
**For example, lions signify Christ because they sleep with their eyes open. Vultures signify Christ because they sometimes die when they fly too fast en route to eating a corpse. Ah, Christ, our ever-watchful, ravenous zombie lord.
***Superfluous Latin builds suspense and makes me look like a legitimate medievalist.
****This makes more sense if you know that the Latin word for beaver is castor, which kind of looks like castrando, the word for castrate. Not much more sense, but that’s how it worked back then.

Oh, who will stand up for the poor blogger, lampooned in the newspapers and on the cable news talking head shows? Yes, I occasionally post while wearing my pajamas. Yes, I am a seething mass of pedantic rage. Yes, there are better things that I could be doing with my time. But must the mainstream media always steal my best ideas?

Case in point: This Slate article about the foreskin of Christ, dated to December 16th, 2006, months after my brilliant excursis on the matter.

Case the second: This headline at an obscure British online humor magazine The Spoof: “Britney Spears’ Vagina Has Legs.” It’s a shameless ripoff of this site’s unofficial mascot, Jaunty, the ambulatory vagina.*

And the most gratuitous of them all: this article just published in the online version of Eastern Michigan University’s student newspaper that compares Optimus Prime to Joan of Arc. Yes, I’ve fallen down on the 80’s reference job lately, but I did recently patent the use of 80’s pop references in conjunction with medieval history.

There’s even a web show on Comedy Central’s Motherload called “All Access Middle Ages“now. I prefer the creators’ much funnier “I Love the 30’s,” but for webisodic humor with a medieval theme, there’s not much better. But it’s still a blatant rip-off of my idea. This equation may clear things up for those of you who don’t see the connection:

Medieval + funny = pay Got Medieval blogger cash

I can only take solace in knowing that the way I feel whenever I read Geoffrey Chaucer Hath a Something-or-Other must be exactly the same way that Gertrude Stein felt when she read The Sun Also Rises. Ah, to be so eclipsed by those that I nurtured and inspired. It’s hard being the web’s seminal medieval humor source, but Gertie and I are made of strong stuff. We will endure.

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*Sorry, egg-laying man, your sun has set.

Google did what it does best this week: they introduced a new search feature, this one for searching US Patent applications. And I did what I do best: I typed ‘medieval’ into the search field looking for things to make jokes about. And boy, did I learn a lot about patents. For starters, it seems like you get extra points for mentioning that elements of your invention date back to medieval times, kind of like how undergraduates like to begin their essays with “All throughout history.”* My favorite “since the medieval era” is in the application for a “Panty Condom“: “Since medieval times, the concept of a condom as a means to prevent [censored in case another professor of mine discovers this blog], and hence preventing insemination, is known.”*** And yet no one ever says, “Use a condom? Are you insane? Get your medieval bedroom paraphernalia away from my [likewise censored in case of prudish job search committees].” But perhaps the applicant for this patent planned a series of commercials featuring the tagline: “Stop using medieval birth control. The Panty Condom is the way of the future!”

But my discoveries don’t stop with unlikely prophylactics–I also discovered that someone has patented a Method for Manufacturing a Heraldic Escutcheon that, as near as I can tell, is just a shield-shaped picture frame:

According the the application, “Although battle by sword is uncommon these days … there is a need for an efficient process to manufacture personalized heraldic eschutcheons which are attractive and durable.” I know my own method for making attractive, durable personalized heraldic eschutcheons is nowhere near as efficient as it could be. And likewise, how many times have you said to yourself, “There is a need for computer accessories that allow the user to personalize his or her computer and can make computing fun for youngsters.” Well, someone’s one step ahead of you: “The present invention addresses the above-mentioned deficiencies in computer system appearance by providing a system of accessories with a common theme to accentuate the appearance of the computer system”? You know, for the kids.

Allow me to introduce this Computer Mouse House and Interactive System.

Sure, it looks cool, but when you get down to it, this is a patent for stacking toys around your computer. I think I may owe the owner of this patent a lot of money if he ever finds out how I used to decorate my desk at work with Star Wars figures back in the late nineties. But that’s really beside the point. The important thing here is that only you can prevent deficiencies in computer system appearance. If you won’t help these children, who will? For just pennies a day, you can make sure that little Johnny never has to use a barren, dragonless computer ever again.

Speaking of the children, there also exists a deficiency in Toy Apparatuses Simulating Hunting or Combat. When I was a kid, we simulated hunting and combat by hitting each other with things. This patent appears to simulate hunting and combat by stabbing things through other things, plastic swords and bald children, respectively****:

Perhaps you prefer your toys to be just a tad safer. Think of how much fun a child would have with a sword firmly planted in a stone. Wait, stop thinking! Someone already has the patent on that idea, buddy, and those thoughts now require six easy payments of ninteen ninety five. It’s a Medieval Sword in Stone Game:

I know that you probably won’t believe me after the fake bald child debacle of one paragraph ago,***** but the patent in no way explains how a sword in a stone constitutes a game. There are no Community Chest cards, no Pop-A-Matic Bubble, no specific pattern of sounds to reproduce by hitting a bald child with the sword before time runs out–nothing. Hey, kids, think how much fun you’ll have… uh… staring at this amazing game? How long can you stare? Who can get the closest to the sword without touching it? For a unique spin on an old classic, hide the sword in the stone, count to ten, and then try to find it! How many times can you spell S-W-O-R-D before the sword spontaneously tips over? (I’ll bet more than a few. Notice how they thoughtfully included an extra wide base.) How long will it take you to guess what type of sword is hidden inside the stone? Collect all five swords in stones and form the mighty Row of Five Swords in Stones!

And finally, there’s the System for Allowing a Person to Experience Systems of Mythology which will allow you to experience the Middle Ages firsthand… somehow. The description certainly seems scientific:

It includes an existential analyzer module (EAM) for assessing a portion of a person’s meaningful experiential world. The EAM generates an existential descriptor (EXD) data structure describing the assessments. A facilitator module (FAM) utilizes the assessment from the EXD data structure for determining at least one enactment descriptor (END) data structure describing the enactment chosen from the FAM. An enactor module (ENM) utilizes information from the EXD data structure and from the END data structure to generate a mythic virtual reality that incorporates the chosen enactment.

It’s just that simple. I bet you’re kicking yourself for not patenting it first. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to go file some paperwork for my Series of Connected Sentences Describing Strange Patent Applications with Occasional Snarky Commentary Interspersed between.

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*My personal favorite overly broad undergraduate** essay beginning is stolen from a friend of mine who’d rather his name not be mentioned in a blog. “All throughout history, men have written in English. One of those men was Mark Twain.”
**To any undergraduates who happen to be reading this blog, especially undergraduates I’ve taught, don’t worry, it’s not you I’m talking about. I only make fun of hypothetical undergraduates who can only be hypothetically offended and thus can only write hypothetically unfavorable evaluations of me at the end of their hypothetical semesters.
***As I have mentioned before, this may be due to my overactive inner Beavis.
****Ok, so the bald children are actually action figures with foam cores so that you can poke things into them.
*****You really need to read the footnotes sooner.

In a previous post, I mentioned the possibility that someone might be in ur base killin ur d00ds. The occasional serious academic who stumbles by this page may not be up on their slightly dated internet slang.* Roughly translated, it’s a taunt you’d use to indicate to your opponent that not only have you bested them, you have thoroughly trounced them without their even noticing. While they were looking elsewhere, you snuck into their base and are currently engaged in the killing of their most vital commodity: dudes.

This picture may be of some help.

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*I play far too much of a particular internet game, which is where I heard the phrase.

After four comments posted to my blog out of the blue this weekend, I got suspicious. Why were people suddenly reading my months-old post on cheese? The answer, apparently, is that I’ve been listed as the European History Blog of the Week for the week of November 25th at About.com, and some of you are slow readers.

In other satisfying search engine news, the top hit for “Got Medieval” at Google is now the post where I complain about my ranking in search engines. Ah, the delectable frisson of meta. In celebration, I’m opening up the half-written drafts folder on my Blogger.com dashboard and rushing them to publication, quality be damned.

I tend to keep tabs on what’s new and medieval in the media by using Google and Yahoo’s news search features. Today, I noticed an search ad at the bottom of Yahoo’s listings for something called the “Quadrivium Academy”:

Follow the link if you want to be confused. Though don’t be confused by the word ‘Quadrivium.’ That’s just a fancy Latin word for the 2nd tier degree in medieval universities, the study of the four subjects of arithmetic, geometry, music, and astronomy. Combined with the trivium–rhetoric, logic, and grammar–it’s the evolutionary precursor to the idea of a “liberal arts” education.

Be confused instead by the existence of this paid advertisement. I visited the site expecting a sort of faux medieval, unaccredited university that would gladly bilk you out of some cash in exchange for a useless degree. But no, there’s actually nothing that I can find being sold at the site. It’s just a list of courses, majors, and requirements for a proposed medieval-inspired college degree.

There’s no contact information on the site, so there’s no way I can see for its proprietor to make any money whatsoever from the paid advertisement. WHOIS lookup has the site registered to an nondistinctively-named, and thus non-Googleable, woman who has a PO Box in Emeryville, CA. Yet every time I do a search for ‘medieval’, this person has paid Yahoo! to provide me with this link to a free, barebones sketch of a nonexistent university’s curriculum. I imagine that somewhere in Emeryville, there’s a blackboard with some Underpants Gnome logic on it:

1) Post description on Yahoo! of medieval university
2) ??????
3) Profit!

I’m naturally suspicious every time someone points back to the trivium and quadrivium as a model for modern education, because usually the person doing the pointing doesn’t really know what teaching those subjects in a modern context would mean. In other words, the pointing people are often deeply conservative, in that Heritage Foundation kind of way. Usually, they’re just stringing hollow statements together like this one, which I took from a research paper at Alan Keyes’s Renew America site:

Furthermore, grammatically correct speech embodies several essential principles of metaphysics. For example, the correct use of the verb “to be” provides key insights into ontology, or the study of the nature of being. One is not likely to understand Aristotle’s distinction between “existence” and “being” without crisp language skills. However, we unknowingly make these distinctions every day if we speak with good grammar.

Pedantic prescriptivist* claptrap! I doubt you’ll be any better able to understand Aristotle if you habitually refrain from saying, “Don’t bother me, I be playing Mario.” Even when Dry Bones or Banzai Bill be in ur base killin ur d00ds.**

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*The sort of person who thinks that it is very important not to end a sentence with a preposition. Theirs is the sort of pedantry up with which Winston Churchill would not put.
**This is the sort of internet meme reference that I really ought to provide an explanatory footnote for. But I’m too busy trying to figure out how to revise the previous sentence. And the previous sentence, because it begins with a conjunction. And that one, too! Ahhh!!!