Thursday, July 11, 2013


 I found out this morning that my grandmother died in her sleep last night. I tried to go about today like normal-- I got dressed, went to work, came home, and sprayed my cat with water when she took advantage of my distracted state and started digging through the trash can. I am having trouble with the fact that she is no longer with us-- she's not someone who is dead, she is not a grandmother who died; she is Gran. In some ways, I feel kind of guilty for being so affected by it-- after all, she lived in Scotland, and I only visited her about once every two years, so I should be leaving the sadness to people who saw her more frequently, right? On the other hand, I know that guilt is irrational, and it all boils down to the fact that I'm really, really going to miss her.

I want to talk about her a little bit. I want people to know who she was.

Just to clarify, that cake was from us to her-- had she baked it, the strawberries would all be on top.
And it would look good.

First off, Gran loved Scotland. Every time we (my sister and I) visited, she would have some agenda planned for us so we could see different Scottish tourist destinations, whether it was the Edinburgh castle or optical museum, coal mines,  Loch Lomond or Loch Ness, Skye, Aire, or just shopping in Glasgow. You name it, we've seen it, accompanied by a complete commentary from Gran. I remember being very young and absolutely bewildered by some of the harsher Scottish accents I came across, and Gran having to "translate" what people were saying to me. I also remember Gran mimicking accents-- not just the Northern Scottish dialects, but Irish, as well. At one point, my sister and I were attempting to "speak Irish" to each other, and Gran immediately began correcting us with a flawless Irish accent.

My grandmother and me, with pictures of her family on the wall

If we weren't going to other parts of Scotland, we would walk around Ashgill, my grandmother's hometown, or Larkhall, the nearby larger town. We could walk to the library, the local grocery, the park, or just through fields full of cows or sheep, which were all over the place. Unless you're in one of two giant cities-- and even then-- EVERYTHING is picturesque.

An everyday photo from Gran's town

But that was my grandmother-- she liked  beautiful things, pretty things, picturesque things, and so her house was always filled with beautiful little statues, pictures, vases, and her yards-- both front and back-- were filled with gorgeous flowers and plants. It's always drizzly and rainy in Scotland, but that means that the plants grown there are amazing. One of my favorite recipes of hers was rhubarb pie that she would make with rhubarb from her own garden. I once got blisters around my mouth from trying to eat the raw stalks. She also had strawberries, which my sister and I loved to pick.

My sister and me in Gran's garden
Gran had four children-- three girls and one boy, who is my father. He is very serious all the time, and my sister and I grew up seeing him as a quiet, serious, stern father. Which he was. Until we went to my grandmother's house, at which point she would always greet him by pointing out the candy she put out just for him because he always asks for it while he's over, and the food she baked for him, and remind him of funny stuff he did while he was little, although always insisting that my dad was absolutely perfect when he was little. My aunts never minded telling amusing stories about my father, though, and my grandmother would always concede with the fact that yes, that event did happen, and oh yes, he did say that that one time. He is always far less serious around them, which is one of the reasons my sister and I loved our trips to Britain

My dad and two aunts

Gran was one of those people who demonstrated her love a lot of ways, but one significant method was through food. One of my earliest memories of her house was arriving with my sister, lugging our suitcases after an exhausting half-day series of flights and dreading the thought of unpacking, and Gran pulling us away from her parents, taking us to her kitchen, and putting on the stern face that my dad uses right before he gives us one of his infamous "lectures," and giving us a long talk about how we absolutely MUST remember that if we are EVER hungry, she has baked cakes for us that are in the top shelf of the freezer, macaroni and cheese in the second shelf, meat pies in the third shelf, and some series of Scottish candy in the fourth shelf, and we are NEVER to ask for it, just TAKE. 

My sister getting some Scottish breakfast

There were lots of other memories, though. When I was four or five, I went to Scotland with my father, and he dropped me off at Gran's before leaving for Norway for a few days. My sister and mother came up a few days later, but there was a stretch of time during which I stayed with Gran by myself.  I have a lot of memories of that particular trip. Mostly because I had chicken pox. Gran was all over it, though. I found a stuffed koala bear on her couch, and she immediately gave it to me. I still have him-- his name is Koala.

Koala may be past his prime,  but he is as understanding as ever. 

I also got tons of bubble baths with lots of salts and perfumes, which, from then on, was always a memory I associated with her house. (particularly since that became a nightly tradition every time I visited her) In any case, just a couple of years ago, I was in Cornwall with one of my English cousins (the daughter of one of my aunts on that side), and I had brought Koala with me on that trip. At one point, during a game of Trivia Pursuit with the family, I pulled him of my luggage, and my (~30 yr old) cousin immediately recognized him, saying, "Wait! That's Koala! That's mine!" And I agreed that he was Koala, but he was mine, and and how did she know him? Apparently she had left him at Gran's house on a visit several years ago, and the Koala I had discovered was not a special doll that my grandmother had bought for me, but something she simply decided I needed more. Pleased at this realization, I set Koala next to my twenty-year-old self, and continued with our family game. 

My cousin (post-Koala), her niece (Gran's great-grandchild), and Gran

The last time I saw her was last summer, a year ago. I miss her already, but I love the family that she raised, and she loved it too.

Tuesday, July 2, 2013

Hello, world!

So it has taken me over a month, but I am FINALLY starting to settle in to my new home. Yes, I have a new home-- I'm currently living in my first apartment! Here are some things I have done since I last posted:

1. Graduated
2. Made the Dean's List at Trinity (yes, despite having graduated, I'm still excited about that)
3. Entered into Trinity's MAT program, which is a year-long graduate program during which I will be studying to get a Master's degree in teaching (it starts in fourteen days!!)
4. Picked up a part-time job for the summer and during the school year
5. And, most importantly, gotten a kitten!!!!!!!!!

So I wanted to write a post to say hello, and also because I want to start this blog thing up again, now that I have some time (and internet). And, because I've had a strange desire to write recently, although I haven't really come up with any topics that I feel really passionate about. However, I've decided that the only way to get started again is to just sit down and write about something. (even if, as I'm seeing after writing this post, there are more pictures here than words)

So. This will be a post about Lydia.

Lydia is a character in Skyrim.

"I am sworn to carry your burdens."

She follows you around throughout the game until you send her away, or she dies. The latter is actually kind of frequent, because she tends to get in your way when you're doing other things-- often fighting other bad guys-- and in Skyrim, getting in the way in a battle can be fatal. She also gives you a lot of attitude throughout the game. I like her, though, and in any case, she's pretty memorable.

Lydia is also my cat.

She is six months old and still in the process of growing up. But hasn't gotten there yet. She is pretty awkward at times. She likes people. Even more, she likes people food. She makes "chattering" noises a lot, and often squeaks regularly while running around the house (which she does often). She can fetch, but she only likes fetching balls of paper and toothbrushes. She is also pretty memorable (to me, anyway-- mostly because she lives with me, but also because she fetches toothbrushes).

Sometimes, if I'm not paying attention to her, she'll give me furtive looks.

Other times, she'll try to vaporize me.

She is very, very sneaky.

When I'm watching tv on my laptop, she tries to sabotage my tv-watching experience. This does not always end well.

My roommate and I have bought her a bunch of toys, but her favorites are always the ones that are not for her. Hence, the box:

The toothbrush (don't worry-- I bought a new toothbrush for myself, so now this is her toy):

And the rolled-up ball of paper:

I'm pretty sure I got the weirdest cat in the store when I got Lydia, and I'm so happy that I did. :)

Thursday, May 9, 2013


A project that I am working on: a map of Judeo-Christian texts written between 50-400 CE. It's a work in progress! (and in the meantime, I'm using my blog to host it so I can work on it more easily-- so, more of a class thing than a bloggy thing)

View map on GeoCommons

Saturday, March 16, 2013

Traffic Laws as Interpreted by New Yorkers

So I spent a few days of Spring Break last week in Manhattan with my family, and was a bit taken aback at the cars there. As Houstonian currently living in San Antonio, and having driven in both cities, I thought Houston had aggressive drivers. I WAS WRONG. Houston drivers are sweet, incredibly caring, and a little on the slow side. I also noticed that we have different opinions on the laws and policies of traffic, and decided to share a few of the New Yorker views here.

LANE LINES-- Lane lines are markers for pedestrians, not drivers. They're sort of like yard lines in football, so that those who are walking know how far across the street they are. Pedestrians don't necessarily *have* to use them, although they're helpful. In any case, lane lines really don't have anything to do with where cars drive.

RED LIGHTS-- these are sort of like yellow lights. If you're close enough and it JUST turned red, there's nothing wrong with just going through, especially if you go really fast.


INTERSECTIONS-- let's just face facts here. Intersections are GOING to be blocked. Why shouldn't it be you? It might be a little annoying for the person going in the crossing lane, but they can always squeeze through behind or in front of you. Not your fault.

SPEED LIMITS-- these are completely irrelevant, because you're always going to have too much traffic to reach the speed limit. That doesn't mean you can't test the limits of your own speed/maneuverability within the traffic you're in, though. See how fast you CAN go! Just because you're surrounded by cars on all six sides of your car doesn't mean you shouldn't step on the pedal a bit. Just because you COULD hit cars, doesn't mean you WILL.

HONKING-- car horns are for when you're feeling frustrated or overwhelmed about life. If anything whatsoever is bothering you (your boss was kind of a bitch today, you're behind on work, you forgot to pick up kids from school, you just don't feel like driving), then honk! That's what the horn is for! Alternatively, if it's simply too quiet, go ahead and honk. Break the silence. Dare to be different.

PEDESTRIANS-- don't kill them. That's bad.

Thursday, February 28, 2013

Why I will never again do homework after taking NyQuil

Some of you may have seen on my Facebook status this week that I recently resolved never to take NyQuil again before working on music theory homework (which, for those of you who don't know, is very detail- and math-oriented). However, after the repercussions of my poor decision-making lasted for a couple of days, I decided to share my story with the world, in hopes of preventing some poor, sickly future soul of making the same mistake that I did.


It was a Monday night. I was cold, and shivering, my skin felt rough, and I could not get through my homework. I knew, in my heart of hearts, that I had a fever, and nothing would do but to take some NyQuil, finish my homework, and go to sleep. In that order. (I was feverish, okay? I wasn't thinking straight.)


I have no tolerance for anything. I go crazy after a cup of wine. I'm not even going to talk about liquor. And I had not had NyQuil in a very, very long time. Sometimes I don't think I deserve the recognition of being a college student because of my inability to drink, and then I look at how magnificently I procrastinate on everything, how profoundly messy I am, and how malleable my sleep hours are, and I realize that I still belong.


I know I took the NyQuil because of how gross it tasted. Also, I found the pill wrapper on the sink the next morning, and one pill was missing. Yes, one. A half dose. If you didn't read what I wrote before, I have a very low tolerance. At some point, I fell asleep. And then, the next morning, I woke up.


I went to my classes as usual on Tuesday morning. I still felt a little strange. We watched a video in my first class. I said hi to people, and took notes. I didn't have any homework due for that class, which was a good thing. I asked good, insightful questions. I think. I left the class when it was over, and went to my next class, where we did have a significant amount of homework due-- this was music theory. We were asked to open our workbooks, and I turned to a page filled with neat markings and numbers. Most of them weren't on any particular line, but they were in the general vicinity of where they were supposed to be. We went through the answers, and I was pleased to find that most of them were correct! This continued for several pages in the workbook until we turned to the final section, in which we had to analyze a Stravinsky piece. When the professor called out this page number (and the title of the piece), my stomach plummeted. I had not done this page. The piece sounded completely unfamiliar, and I knew I had not done this assignment at all. Moreover, I could tell my professor was just about to call on me for the first question.

I turned to the page as fast as I could, to try and figure out the answer of the first problem before being called on.

To my surprise, the entire page was completed-- in my handwriting, too! I proudly read out the answer of the first question, which was completely and totally wrong. The numbers I read had absolutely no relation to the piece in question. As I scanned the assignment while the rest of the class and the professor moved on, I saw very little connection between the numbers I'd recorded and the numbers I was supposed to put down. At one point, I had written a sequence that looked something like this:


When the text asked me if I noted any patterns in the aforementioned sequence, I'd responded with:

The numbers 2, 3 are repeated often. 

When one question asked me to list the numerical value of all the notes in the piece, and to label them, I'd written

0, 3, 6, 9; a diminished seven chord

The correct answer was:

0, 2, 4, 6, 8, t, 0; a whole tone scale

(for those of you who know nothing about music, know that this is a mistake that can only have been caused by not reading the question in addition to not reading the notes in the piece while pulling numbers out of thin air)

After hesitantly turning in my homework, I then went to my independent study lesson, where I showed my professor several summaries I'd compiled for a bibliography on non-canonical early Christian texts. Except I hadn't recorded any of the sources, and had failed to reference them in my summaries. I would describe, at length, how this text covered a certain argument, and was backed by its author. Luckily, my professor seemed to find it more amusing than anything else, but I spent a good hour tracking down all the texts I might have looked at the previous night, and recorded in my "notes."

So, that was my experience with NyQuil and homework. A mistake that, while egregious, was in the past. Or so I thought.


The next day, I came home to check my email, feeling very much recovered from my fever. I opened my inbox, responded to some messages, and came across an email from my professor with an attachment containing a short-response piece I'd turned in a couple of nights ago. I opened up the document to view his comments and my grade, and found, instead, a single question from my professor: "Are you still working on this?"

I scrolled down to see what I'd written:

I suppose that I am still a little confused by the seemingly conflicting ideas that, on one hand


At that point, I resolved never to take NyQuil again. Or, if I did, write a note beforehand for me to read about how I am NOT to do ANY schoolwork post-drugs. Or just double-check my work afterwards. Or be with a friend who can monitor my work. Or something. Anything. The important thing is that I have learned: I should never, ever, do anything ever after taking a half-dose of NyQuil.

In short, this is why I'm not a drinker.

Sunday, January 27, 2013

A Slightly More Serious Post

I made a solemn vow when I first started this blog a few years ago that I would never, ever talk about politics. Well, maybe I didn't make a solemn vow. But I generally try to avoid the subject, both in this blog and in my everyday Facebook posts. The reason(s)?

  1. I am not going to change anybody's views. 
  2. Similarly, I know myself well enough to know that people who argue with me will probably just irritate me instead of convince me of anything, unless their argument is wonderfully backed up with sources and impeccable logic-- I have not come across many people who argue like that. 
  3. There are millions of people out there far more informed than I am. That in itself is not a reason for me to remain quiet, but I would rather participate as a listener than a contributor. I vote, read articles, and make choices, but I don't think I have anything to say that hasn't already been said (and more eloquently, at that). 
So, I want to preface this post by saying that I don't see this as being about politics. You may disagree with me. I will try and abstain from posting a single political opinion on here. What I DID want to post about is a trend I've been seeing on Facebook and some other social media sites. It's not actually a trend so much as a regular pattern that been a trending annoyance for me. 

It seems as though some people's anger towards Obama has presented itself as a form of irrelevant attack. This is not new, I understand that. I am writing this post because I have gotten to the point where I am finally taking people out of my newsfeed for it simply because I don't want to look at their posts, and I want to address it here. It's not a political issue, because it has nothing to do with politics. A political issue would be gun control. If I were to write a political post on the subject, it would involve discussing why or why not I believe American citizens should have access to certain types of guns. But I am not talking about gun control here; I'm talking about personal comments that have nothing to do with how Obama runs the country. 

What do I mean by irrelevant attacks? 
  • Racism. Or, 1. comments that refer to Obama as being African or Muslim. There is nothing wrong with being either, but they are not accurate when describing Obama. Moreover, they are almost always used in a derogatory context. It is one thing to make an honest mistake (I make them all the time); it is entirely different to refer to him as an "African" as a lazy and inaccurate racial slur while actually criticizing him for something entirely different. That is insulting to Obama, to Africans, and to your own intelligence level. You can do better than that. 
    • a. 2. Comments that refer to Obama as being "black" when talking about him in contexts that have nothing to do with race (so, when arguing gun control, I don't see why the color of his skin is relevant). 
    • 3. Comments that use other derogatory words which should be obvious, and which I won't include here. 
  • Comments that compare Obama to Hitler. Comparing anybody to Hitler has a multitude of issues for me. Primarily, unless they murdered fourteen million people, they are not Hitler. Secondly, pointing out that someone does something that Hitler did-- and therefore they are bad-- is also a frustrating argument. Mostly because Hitler liked Wagner, he sang in a church choir, he was interested in becoming a customs bureau officer, considered himself patriotic and nationalistic, was a painter for a short while, enjoyed drawing cartoons, and so on. 
    • Instead of saying, "So-and-so is like Hitler because...", look at whatever action the person is taking, and explain why you disagree with that action. If you have a basic grasp of the English language, this should be possible without bringing in Hitler.
  • Lastly, the argument that people who are slinging these personal attacks should not be blamed, because "the other side" said similar things about Bush while he was in office. First off, many people have been commenting on the extreme polarization of this country. Polarization comes from attitudes like this, on BOTH sides. Just because people criticize Bush for "being an idiot," or a "redneck" doesn't make the parallel criticisms of Obama acceptable. If they are wrong, then take a stand by refusing to play the same game. If you think these kinds of criticisms are acceptable, then go ahead,  but you can't get angry when the same comments are made about political figures you support. 
    • Secondly, I want to make it clear that I have not, and will not, comment on anybody's performance in the office based on anything other than specific political decisions or actions. I don't care which party they are from, or the ratings they get while in office. This is not to say that my political views allow me to agree with every decision of every president in office, but I will not criticize the president simply because he's not someone I'd be personal friends with, given the opportunity. So, there is at least ONE person who has managed to abstain from this, and I'm quite certain there are probably others. 

I do hope that this means something to someone. As I said before, I know I won't change people's minds on political issues, but I really don't believe this is a political issue at all, but instead a step towards slightly more civilized discourse and debate with a bit less hatred. 

Tuesday, January 15, 2013

Wrath of the Titans is not Greek Mythology

(warning: long post ahead, but I tried to saturate this post with pictures to reward anybody with the determination and focus to read through it all)

I watched the movie Wrath of the Titans last night, sequel to Clash of the Titans, and was, as usual with these types of films, amused by the mythology used in the movie. I wrote a little Facebook status about it, and then while falling asleep last night, decided to expand on my thoughts and put them into a post, if only for my own benefit.

(To see my response to Percy Jackson, see here).

The first post I ever wrote!

Let me get something straight first: I absolutely enjoyed watching the movie. Had I been wanting to watch it for a while? Yes. Did I think it was a good movie? No. Was I expecting it to be a good movie? No. Would I watch it again? No. Am I glad I saw it? Of course! As someone who enjoys romantic comedies is really just looking for a cute, happy ending between a couple in their films, when I watch an action movie, I'm really just looking for a good fight, not an epicurean masterpiece. It was nothing original, nothing I haven't seen before. Plus, I enjoy seeing adaptions of books, mythologies, whatever. It is incredibly uncommon that I actually regret spending my time watching a certain movie-- M. Night Shyamalan's The Last Airbender is a rare example, and I still refuse to see the movie A Wrinkle in Time.

I'm with you, Sokka. I'm with you. 

As a movie on it's own, Wrath of the Titans was your average B-/C+ action flick. Perseus's wife Io has just  died after ten years (for those familiar with Io's story in Greek mythos, just don't ask; for those familiar with the first movie, I'm just assuming they couldn't get the actress back for some reason), and he is raising a son (named...Helius?) when Zeus-- his father-- comes to him and asks for help because something bad and really really vague is about to happen. Perseus refuses because he doesn't want to leave his son, and Zeus reminds him that as a human, he is stronger than a god, and a few actions scenes later, Perseus has rounded up the old gang (with a new comedic sidekick) and they're off to save Zeus, armed with a mediocre screenplay bathed in CGI, surviving only on the ambrosia that is the relationships between Zeus, Hades, Poseidon, Perseus, and sort of Ares. Note: this ambrosia actually makes it an improvement from Clash of the Titans (although the box office earnings would suggest otherwise).

Greek mythology does not get any more badass than this. 

This is not a movie review, so I'm not going to spend my time with the plot and quality. What I am interested in is the mythology. I mean for this post to be a reflection. As I said before, I enjoy seeing adaptions of myths, and this was no exception. I had a conversation with someone over the holidays about a movie's right to advertise itself as being based in something true. Zero Dark Thirty was the main subject of our conversation, which is only very loosely based on the discovery and death of Osama bin Laden, but has not advertised itself as being false in any way, which I find disturbing.

As it is, the director of Wrath -- not the same director of Clash-- seems to have, once again, taken a sixth grade mythology class and waited to direct it until he was forty. The Disney movie Hercules had fewer inaccuracies than Wrath, and I can excuse some of those because, well, I wouldn't want my child watching a movie where Zeus cheats on Hera and names the son Heracles after her to try and appease her but she's still so pissed off that she throws his child off of Mt. Olympus, either, where Heracles grows up and kills Meg and then ultimately chooses to live on Olympus instead of Earth.

Hell, I don't even mind Hera being pink. 

It doesn't bother me, exactly. I suppose I do cringe when I hear people referring to the movie as a source of mythology-- I love mythology, and Wrath of the Titans is not that. Maybe what gets to me is that there is some hidden implication there that the actual mythology is not interesting enough. I understand some modernizations.  I have grown accustomed to the fact that pretty much any movie that does not take pace in modern-day (or futuristic) America will host a cast of English accents, regardless of whether we're in Greece, Persia, or Alagaesia, because British is the only foreign/exotic accent there is. I have also grown accustomed to the fact that the rise of CGI fight scenes mean the rise of more and more outlandish monsters and battles and Michael Bay explosions, and that directorial moves like making Andromeda a warrior-queen is meant to appease the feminists of today.

(I would have inserted a picture here, but you would not believe how much Andromeda fan art there is on Google image, and I refuse to wade through it all just to put one picture here when you can find it yourself)

Fine. Here are some things I don't get:

1. The Chimera at the beginning of the movie look nothing like Chimera. First off, in the film, there were multiple. Secondly, they had wings. Third, it looked very little like a lion/snake/goat hybrid-- I certainly wouldn't have guessed that. The snake, maybe-- the cinematography didn't help me to get a good view of the animal. But what is wrong with the chimera as it was? I'll ignore the fact that Perseus never had anything to do with the Chimera. But, if filmed right, I could easily see a lion/goat/snake hybrid that breathes fire as being scary enough. This is a small detail, but something that I see as being a failure on the part of the filmmakers, because instead of actually exploring the possibilities of having a single fire-breathing Chimera (as described in Hyginus or Pindar), they just change the creature to make it look uglier, more alien, and unclear, and then add more of them because they can't create enough drama with just one.

Guys. Guys, this is not a Chimera.

2. The whole backstory with Kronos. This confuses me for two reasons. One, the actual story with Kronos is way more awesome and crazy than what we saw in the movie. Basically, Ouranos and Gaia (Sky and Earth) have several children-- titans-- including Kronos and Rhea, who have several children (including Hera, Zeus, Demeter, Hestia, Poseidon, and Hades). Kronos then overthrows his father by castrating him (the, um, aftermath of the castration falls into the sea, fertilizes it, and that is how Aphrodite is born), and then, fearing that his own children will overthrow him just as he did his father, he eats them. When Zeus is finally born after everybody else, Rhea wants to protect him, so she gives Kronos a rock to eat instead of the baby, tricking him, and raises Zeus on her own. He then gets his brothers and sisters back when Kronos throws them all back up, and together, they fight a war against Kronos and the other titans, and win, banishing them all into Tartarus. Tartarus is NOT a labyrinth with a Minotaur, but instead a pit, and actually himself a god-brother of Ouranos and Gaia-- so he's actually a being, too.

And this is actually a simplified PG version!

3. The other reason this confuses me is that the reason for all this castration, baby-eating, and banishment is that all of these characters are immortal. Unlike Norse gods, they can't be killed, hence these elaborate and gruesome punishments. They do get weaker when they aren't worshipped, as evidenced by the fact that gods are stronger in their patron cities and their natural element (for example, the conflict between Athena and Poseidon in the Odyssey), and they can get hurt (as Ares was in the Trojan War), but they can't die. Demi-gods can die, Io and Perseus can die, but not the gods. This creates a major plothole-- why was Kronos in Tartarus in the first place? When Zeus, Hades, and Poseidon joined forces to to defeat him in the first place, why would they trap him instead of kill him? Why didn't Kronos kill them in the first place, either?

Because the planets were not yet aligned?

4. The last thing I'll point out is the relationships between the gods. This first got to me when Hephaestus discussed creating the labyrinth. Well, he never did that in the first place (not to mention that, again, Tartarus is actually technically the uncle of Kronos, was around before he was, and is a god as much as he is a place), but Hephaestus also would not have been around then, because Kronos is not his father, Zeus is. In a way, he is also a brother to Ares and Perseus. Since the father/son/brother relationship in this movie was so important, this seems like it could have been an incredibly convenient thing to bring up. Also, he compares the warrior queen Andromeda to his wife, Aphrodite, and this is supposed to be a compliment (Aphrodite, the goddess of love, is married to Hephaestus because Zeus forced her to, and she cheats on him regularly with Ares, to the point where Hephaestus designs a net that catches both of them naked in bed, and invites all the gods to look so they can laugh at her).

Lol Hephaestus

With all this material, why go through all the effort to change it all up to create an entirely new plot? I might go along with it if the newly produced plot had some magnificent twists, wit, meaning, substance, or anything else, but it didn't. Maybe it was simply changed to appeal to a modern-day American audience, but that clearly didn't work, either, given that it's earned, in its entirety (box-office and dvd/blu-ray release combined) less than ninety million dollars. And, obviously, it wasn't supposed to appeal to myth buffs. If it's just supposed to be an action flick with some cool fantasy stuff, I can enjoy it at that level, but then I don't see why they would have changed the original story so elaborately. It's not a great movie. The confusion (and mild disappointment) for me does not come from the fact that the mythology is distorted in the film-- that is to be expected-- but instead, the wild and desperate attempts to make the mythology somehow cooler, crazier, more action-packed and simultaneously more meaningful than it already is, discrediting the original in the process as being dated and unworthy of an honest retelling.