The day Julius Caesar bought the farm

Few people today would remember the Ides of March had Shakespeare not written a boffo play about it, starring Marlon Brando.

The Ides of March in 44 B.C. came on what we would call Wednesday, though the Romans called it a B day. (Not a birthday; the Romans had an eight-day week, and called the days A through H. Shows what the Romans knew.)

No one called Wednesday Wednesday until the Vikings bashed heads around sea and land a thousand years after Caesar bought the farm (or villam).

The Vikings called it “Wodin’s Day,” Wodin being the Vikings’ boss god, just as our Sunday is named for our chief god, the Sun; and Saturday is named for what we did that day, which is sat.

And since we’re on the subject, our word Friday derives from the Vikings’ “day of Frigg.” Frigg was the name of the Vikings’ love goddess. This may explain why so many people, even today, look forward to Friday.

Be that as it was, we should be grateful that Shakey wrote, “Beware the Ides of March!” because “Beware the B day!” or “Beware next Wednesday!” lacks a certain panache.

This is all true. In a sense.

The night before he was murdered by his supposed friends and real enemies, 2,068 years ago Friggday (70 generations ago) Julius Caesar hosted a party at his house. Guess what they talked about? And why.

(Play the “Jeopardy” theme song here, while you try to copy-and-paste this into Google. But remember, the song lasts for only 30 seconds, and you must put your answer in the form of a question.)

After dinner on that A night, the men lounged around on Caesar’s couches and talked about what they would talk about next. Such was the old Roman custom: After dinner you drink wine and philosophize.

No women allowed, of course, at the men’s dinner or at the after-party. (With a few exceptions we shall adumbrate forthwith.)

That night, the men decided that the night’s topic should be: What is the best death?

Julius Caesar said: “Sudden and unexpected,” if you can believe Plutarch. And who you gonna believe if not Plutarch?

The next day was the Ides of March.

As Caesar walked to the Forum, citizens who could worm or bully their way past the Praetorian Guards thrust written pleas into his hands. (You know how annoying citizens can be.) Some of those pleas included the names of the men who were about to kill Caesar, and how they were going to do it.

Also pleading were the soothsayer and his pal, Artemidorus. When they told Caesar that their warning concerned Caesar himself, Caesar stuck their plea at the bottom of the pile he held in his hand, and said: “What touches ourself shall be last serv’d.”

If you can believe Shakespeare.

Wow.

Can you imagine a wannabe emperor — any politician today, particularly One Who Shall Not Be Named Here — doing something like that today? Putting himself last?

No, you cannot.

That’s not our system.

So, these leading citizens — senators and tribunes of the people and whatnot — surrounded Caesar and ended his incipient dictatorship before it started.

Can you imagine senators and tribunes of the people doing such a thing today? By fair means or foul? No, you cannot.

Sic transit gloria mundi. Or as we say today: You pays your money and you takes your choice.

But as I’ve said, I’m more interested in what happened at Caesar’s party on the A night, after the Symposium was over. That’s when women were led in to play flutes and dance naked.

We have similar systems today — all over the world.

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