Why are we so nervous about "privileging" the original?

Do you know why we privilege the original? Because it's bloody original, that's why.

You can argue that the technical chops required for producing a good copy of the Tyrannicides or what-have-you are impressive. This is true. But if you're copying something, you have the inestimable advantage of working from the original, and you (obviously) are not inspired as was the original's creator. What you are doing is craft; what he did was art. Now, you may also be an artist. But rote copying is really not art.

Will it look as nice in a museum? If it's a good copy, yes. Is it the same level of art? No, it is not.

There is something that happens in the moment of composition that is only present in the original. Yes, I am invoking the Muses. They seem germane.

If we find out that Harmodius and Aristogeiton are themselves copies, they are still fine statues. But they will lose status, which will then be conferred on the true originals. There is nothing wrong with this. There really isn't. I promise. Some things are actually prior.

Why would anyone ever think "schetliastic propemptikon" was a necessary phrase?

The phrase is "angry good-bye."

Go jump in a freaking lake.

Why is James Franco now only in movies I don't want to see?

I'm not cool; I didn't watch Freaks and Geeks; I'm sorry; you can take your authenticity elsewhere.

He used to be in vaguely stupid movies, like Tristan & Isolde or Annapolis or Flyboys. And, yes, they were dumb, but he was very handsome in them and at least they weren't particularly offensive. And Rufus Sewell got to be a not-bad guy for once (In Tristan & Isolde. Come on, keep up.).

Then there was the Spiderman incident, or incidents. And those got unbelievably stupid, but, again, Mr. Franco looked good and wasn't the worst part of them.

And then, Mr. Franco discovered he was an Artist. Fair enough. This happens to a lot of actors. They stop shaving, start dressing like hobos, and act in films with Sean Penn. This is to be discouraged! Sean Penn is awful.

The pièce de résistance, of course, is 127 Hours. The dilemma: it promises to be two hours of staring at James Franco's face, but it is almost certainly unbearably pretentious and he is unshaven. The universe, ever-helpful, has provided a solution: the film is so unpleasant you will probably vomit.

Thanks, James Franco! Go brood with your cheekbones and your artistic integrity, jerkface.

Why is my commute now pitted with potholes?

Physics? What?

If you hit a pothole in your car, you may damage your car, but it's actually probably going to be fine. If I hit a pothole on my bike, well, I'm a moron who's not paying attention, but, also: DISASTER.

The catch here is also that if I swerve to avoid said pothole, DISASTER is still a distinct possibility. Because there are other people on the road, and it is a known fact that all motorists are cyclist-hating sociopaths. And I value my arms, even if I don't drive a Volkswagen.

So, thermodynamics, if you want to go on a holiday, that would be fine.

Why do women still think that leggings are pants?

They are not getting any pantsier, ladies.

Why does Jab We Met end in a club full of skanks?

Jab We Met is an enjoyable film. And the point is that Geet is naïve but not a prostitute, and that Aditya is the only chap in the film who doesn't ever think she's a prostitute and at no point takes advantage of the large number of equivocal positions in which she finds herself. There is a lot of festive Punjabi singing and dancing and scenery. Happily ever afters, general cuteness, etc., etc. Kareena Kapoor wears clothes the whole time.

So why, oh why, does it end with a dance sequence involving legions of scantily clad women?

Yes, I'm a prude, but, also, it makes no sense. The rest of the movie is adorable and harmless and about the importance of family and not being gross. Aditya dancing with an army of skanks (and generally no Geet) is profoundly off-message, even if the song is catchy.

Why do even fewer people pick up after their dogs when it snows?

Really, people? It is no less gross in the cold. In fact, it's more obvious when the ground is white. And it's everywhere.

If you don't want to pick up after your dog, you shouldn't have a dog. Well, or you should have a big country house and grooms. I'm assuming this is not the case if there is evidence of your dog in cities and the suburbs.

No one forced you to have a dog, and there should not be canine excrement on my sidewalk. Stop being disgusting.

Why don't people disambiguate "macarons" from "macaroons?"

Pro tip: neither is a "macron," which is a device invented to torture Latin students, and not a fluffy and delicious dessert.

Before all my Italian-speaking readers (I am confident I have none, because of my disdain for their fair [for which read "dirty and smelly"] country) jump on me, I know that both "macaron" and "macaroon" come from the same root. And, really, they are the same word, except that one of them is nasal and French.

But there are two different kinds of confections in play. The first is the one that resembles a meringue and is usually served in sandwich form with jam or chocolate. The second is the one you have at Passover that is a glob of coconut and sweetened condensed milk. They have a common ancestor, involving nut flour or something, but it's not hard to tell them apart.

We have, therefore, two distinct (if related) desserts and two distinct (if related) words. Do the math.

Why are the Field Museum's mummies in no obvious order?

I will pass over briefly how the vast majority of Egyptology is grave-robbing, which is creepy. And we can't even pretend it's not, because we display the bodies. (And, yes, I understand, it's educational, and I've toothbrushed off my share of human bones, and yadda yadda scholarship knowledgecakes. Still creepy.)

At the beginning of the exhibit, they tell you that they will move chronologically through the burials, from the early dynasties to the later dynasties, and thence to the Hellenistic and Roman periods. And maybe they do, if "moving chronologically" means "placing in an order only obvious to a fly on dexies." I even tried to be a virtuous museum-goer and follow the plaques, but even that proved impossible, because there was no single path and I found myself very quickly jumping forward into Ptolemaic burials no matter what I did. It was like that Choose Your Own Adventure novel when you automatically got the bends unless your choice was "throw this book away before your character puts on the wetsuit."

If your plan is merely to chuck the mummies in a room and let the visitors figure it out, because after all most of them are eight years old and thrilled just to see old dead things that will probably curse them, that's fine. A somewhat strange curatorial choice, but fine. It's the mendacity that gets me.

Also, well done, Field Museum, on the captions hung five feet away from the visitor, inside a glass case, in the dark. Those were really useful.