Oh, Dear Dynasty.


The family as you, Dear Reader are well aware of, is the beginning and the end of nearly everything. Some call family the fundamental unit of society, others see the state en miniature represented in the family, Sigmund Freud called family the place where all neurosis were rooted and so family is the place, where we meet people we would have never known otherwise, get things to know, we would better have forgotten and experience forms of intimacy we would run away from immediately, would the occasion not be great-grandmother’s 95th birthday. And therefore we do not only owe our existence to the family, and the ability to cover the tables that even the Prinec of Wales would not be ashamed of, but family provides us with a whole treasure of absurd love stories, grotesque disputes over heritages, distasteful cases of death and unbelievable stories of adored pets, which are just too good, to be only told at birthdays or wedding parties- now, Dear Reader, do not only think of your little sister, your parents and your great- grandfather but of the involvement in such affairs of whole dynasties. So does Jeroen Duindam, Professor of history at the University of Leiden who will give away the secrets of the courts in Vienna, Beijing and Istanbul at Monday, talking about the global dimensions of early modern family and dynasty networks. Please feel very welcome to this very special family reunion at 24th of March, at 4PM in the Neill / Hoey Lecture Room of the Long Room Hub Building, Trinity College Dublin, Ireland. Oh, and don’t forget to bring your little sister and your great- grandmother with you.

The day I lost my name

Ti- Da- di- da-di- chirps the bird in the tree, and does not care about, who this girl Elise might have been.

Elias was the name of the boy, who drowned in the Red Sea at first.

Nomen est omen, is an old saying and Plataus was the name of the man who said it for the first time.

In the English novel of the nineteenth century naming each other with the first name, was the synonym for making love to each other.

A-Skinny-Soy Milk-Frappuccino-Latte- with-an- extra-shot- for- Jo-please  is the most usual greeting at every airport or station in the 21st century.

My Irish students silently smile when I try to pronounce their names right.

I do not know your name, says the men I shall meet for a discussion to me, pointing with his finger in my direction, and barks over the office floor, to his secretary to tell him my name. The secretary does not find the calendar, where my name might appear under 10 AM meeting and the man I shall meet, yells louder, why there is nobody in this d*mn office, who is able to tell him my name. Me standing still in front of him, obviously included. I am terribly sorry, says the man I shall meet, turning  closer to me. I am sure we have taken down a note somewhere. My name is…I want to say, but the man I shall meet, already turned away, yelling, barking and searching for a note with my name on it. I am sure, if I would say may name to anyone in the room now, nobody would believe my name, not even the bird outside in the tree: Ti-Da-di-da-di–