Complex Numbers

Amethyst

Amethyst
an entry for "Journalistic Intentions"  [18+]

Way back in the murky mists of deep time, during a period when I was on the fence about being childfree or not, I knew what I wanted to name a daughter: Amethyst. That would even be my red flag, I decided. When I'm dating someone, I find out if she likes the idea of naming a girl Amethyst and, if not, we weren't going to go any further.

This lasted, oh, about a month or so, when I dated a woman who hated the idea, but was really smoking hot, so all of those plans went right out the window. It wasn't long after that, probably, that I decided my actual red flag was "I want kids."

But I digress; the point is, I liked the sound of that word for as long as I can remember. Which is actually a fairly long time, as I was told early on that it's my "birth stone," just because I arrived in February.

"Birth stone" is, of course, a transparent marketing gimmick, like those silly lists of anniversary gifts. Regardless, I liked the sound of the word amethyst, and I liked the deep purple tint of the stone.

It's just quartz, you know. Silicon dioxide, the second most common mineral of the Earth's crust. (The first is feldspar, which really shouldn't count, as it isn't always composed of the same elements the way SiO₂ is.)

Of course, amethyst isn't really "just" quartz. That color comes from the occasional iron atom in the crystal lattice. Don't ask me why that makes it purple, though; it probably involves quantum effects.

So yeah, common or not, I have a thing for amethyst. Or, at least, I did, until I found out the etymology of the word. It's probably common knowledge by now, but I'll reiterate it here anyway: the word comes to us from ancient Greece, though they certainly weren't the first people to know about the mineral. They assigned it the mystic property of protecting a person against drunkenness, so they named it not-intoxicated, or, in their words, a-methyst.

From what I understand, they even made goblets of carved amethyst on the theory that you could drink all you wanted to out of them and not get drunk. If they'd been half the scientists people think they were, though (and I have an article in the queue that touches on the ancient Greek penchant for natural philosophy), they might have done controlled, double-blind tests and realized that no, it possesses no such property, and any perceived resistance to the blessings of Dionysus was essentially a placebo effect.

I don't know how this belief didn't piss off Dionysus. And you don't want to piss off Dionysus; he's a mean drunk. I, however, am not a mean drunk; I'm a lot meaner when I'm sober. So even though didn't possess this magical quality, the mythology made it lose some of its sparkliness for me.

Therefore, it's just as well I never had kids to saddle one with a name I'd grow to distrust.