A vicious nest of vipers

Last week I discovered one of my coworkers looking up the ancient story of Medusa on wiki. It turns out that it was referenced in an earlier conversation, and my office friend had no clue what Medusa even was. I proceeded to rattle off information about the gorgons (there were, depending on the source, three of them), and Greek mythology in general. I made the mistake of saying that the Edith Hamilton compilation of Greek, Roman and Norse mythology - that I had first begun to read in middle school and still have a battered copy of - was "like the bible of mythology". This made her a little offended seemed to offend her (thanks grammar police...) because she thinks that mythologies should not be compared to the bible. I explained that it was a figure of speech, and also explained that to the ancient Greeks this mythology was their religion. The pantheon of gods and goddesses represented different qualities, many of which are now attributed to the various manifestations of a single diety in modern Judeo-Christian beliefs. To the Greeks (and subsequently, the Romans, whose empirical aspirations had a vital part in the spread of the new western religion of Christianity that neatly co-opted bits of other belief systems as it went along), these tales of vengeful and lusty gods and questing heroes helped explain the phenomena that occurred in the natural world, and gave them a way to rationalize their cultural origins. It addressed the pentultimate question of "Why are we here?". Unless I'm mistaken, this is the basis and primary function of just about every religious belief system ever concocted by the collective minds of humanity since the dawn of time. Personally, I find the idea of a host of admittedly flawed gods twisting the universe to suit their whims more appealing than the possibility of a single god cloaked in the mantle of righteousness while conducting divine business in a decidedly contrary and deceitful fashion. At least you know what makes Zeus tick, and can take steps to prevent advances from giant amorous swans.

Since last week, I've been bothered by the nagging question of trying to remember the name of the hero of the Medusa story. I know he conquered her by looking at her reflection in his polished shield, and was able to escape the fate that met every other man who had ever laid eyes on her horrifying features (her stony gaze, if you will...). I just couldn't remember his name. It dawned on me last night while I was doing housework (some of my best thinking is done when my brain is on cruise control...), and I had to stop what I was doing and go online to make sure I was right. I was. Why can't I make a living from the utterly random and practically useless knowledge that my brain absorbs?

(It was Perseus, by the way!)

Sunday's Lio 'strip that I think I mentioned to M: