Trojans and the Competition.

Baklava. It's Greek for "sugar coma." That's right, all Greek words are Greek for something. What's the most insidious weapon the Greeks have? That's right, baklava. It's actually what the Greek army filled the Trojan horse with. Yeah, I know, everybody thinks it was condoms, but those results would have taken too long too assure victory. Besides, the Greeks were too much about instant gratification, and a condom victory just wouldn't feel the same. No, after the death of Achilles they needed something with enough sugar to crystallize in the enemy's veins.

If you're not familiar with the Trojan story, this is how my dad explained it to me. IT starts with a love handshake. No wrong story.

Ok, try this: Everything was cool and happy in merry old Greece. All men were cheese fat and wine drunk. One guy, a Trojan named Paris (Which is Greek for "Gay City") was jealous. He lived in a walled city with a bunch of dudes, this skewed his world view. It was like spending life in HBO's Oz, without a beauty in sight. So the first chance he got, Paris kidnapped the best looking woman he could, Helen (Greek for "Helen").

Now Helen was the king's wife, and of course this made the king a little angry. He slammed his Brie in disgust. There would be no roast mutton when he returned home, and what's more he was getting a little "lonely," and the peasants were getting nervous. Soon after, he cut off their cheese and wine rations. The king moped. Greece fell sober, somber, and sad.

Luckily the king had a brother who was a real go getter: Agamemnon ("Must I do everything"). Agamemnon, led an expedition, to Troy. I know, it's starting to sound like a gay porn, but it's not. I promise. The action will get different, I swear.

"Give us our queen!" Agamemnon said.

"No." Paris said.

"Ok, Thanks anyway."

That's what he said, but what he meant was, "Lets Dance!" but he meant it in a metaphoric warrior Sharks and Jets kind of way, and not a Gay Paris and Moulin Rouge-amemnon kind of way.

"There will be no secret song…"

So they threw a war. It lasted years. Many great warriors were lost: Achilles ("should always wear boots") and Ajax ("brother to Comet and Bon Ami") were among them. The Greeks were desperate and needed a plan. They drew straws. Somebody would go inside and give a lap dance to Paris, then maybe he would release Helen. Epeius ("sucks to be you") drew the short straw. As a builder not a dancer, he suggested something new.

"What if I build a big hollow horse instead?"

"How will Paris dance with that?"

Epeius drew diagrams and the Greeks got wise.

And that's what led to the Trojan horse filled with Baklava--or the worlds first piñata The Trojans saw it, thought nothing suspicious about a strange wooden horse sitting out in the middle of nowhere, and brought it into their protected city. The rest is mythology.

If you don't know what baklava is, it's a Greek pastry, very sweet. Think pecan pie with an extra cup of brown sugar per slice and a caramel sauce topping. And see, if the South had learned a thing from the gift horse, they could have won the war with pie, not lost with muskets.

"Another slice of Southern Hospitality, General Grant?"

"Oh, no, I coul…" Thump!

"Ok, move him out back with the rest."

In my case baklava is a peace offering. That's right, it's part of Rob mythology. See recently my writers' group has become a tale of two women, and this tale gets catty.

One thing I've learned, women get territorial about things. Whether it's walled cities, office cubies or writers' groups, women don't like outside women barging into their domain and stealing their Helen Reddy CDs. Yet in a metaphoric sense, that seems to have happened in my writers group.

Recently a new woman has been attending. One of the older attendees (older as in attending longer, not as in wizened. I am so not getting in the middle of this…) doesn't seem to be able to play well with her. The new girl seems to share this sentiment. I throw nip in the middle of the table and they both gravitate to opposite ends. Now how women can get so polar is beyond me, but I have experienced the ice chill, and it's not going to end on it's own without frozen blood-cicles.

Now I'd like to tell you that in this story, I'm Helen, and they're fighting over me, but no. I don't know who the queen of their world is, cuz none of the group guys look good in drag. I think it's all about location, location, location, but I don't know, I'm just one of the guys carrying a spear who dies in the big battle scene in act II. I'm trying to end this before we get there.

I'm trying to show them that the group loves them equally, and that they are both important to our culture. I mean without the Trojans, the Greeks would have been a bunch of drunk gluttons, and without the Greeks the Trojans would never have known the agony of defeat, right?

So, I've been plaining down the hackles of the girl who's been there the longest. I think she's starting to understand. I'm also reminding her that the group needs her input, as well as the varied voices of people she may not agree with.

I am a survivalist diplomat.

The new girl, I'm trying to make welcome. That's why the baklava. She mentioned it. there's a Greek café down the block, and today's her birthday. I bring baklava for the group, she feels special, and we all live happily ever after, right?

Yeah, I know, I'm walking into a sticky Trojans' nest. Still, I've been married, I think I can take anything. I'm not Achilles, I'm not a tenderfoot. I'm a man with a plan, a stranger bearing gifts.

I believe that people should get along. I mean really, we can learn things from people we don't get along with. I'm going to try and help these girls see that, if it kills me. I'm just adding sugar to the fire.

And if this doesn't work, I'm sure the sugar coma will.