Meta Description: Join Dr. Jeff Winkle and Dr. David Noe in Ad Navseam Episode 164 as they return to the mythological world of Ovid’s Metamorphoses. Discover the tragicomic tales of Io and Callisto, the photographic narrative technique, and resources to master the Latin language.


Introduction: Casseroles, Endurance, and Paradise City

Welcome back, classical gourmands, to Episode 164 of the Ad Navseam Podcast! Broadcasting directly from the subterranean depths of Vomitorium South—located in the basement of the Reformation Heritage Bookstore—your hosts, Dr. David Noe and Dr. Jeff Winkle, return to the microphones to explore the brilliant, metamorphic poetry of the Roman author Ovid.

The episode begins with the traditional middle-initial banter. Dave declares that his “C” stands for “Casserole,” despite his absolute disdain for the dish—especially those layered with zucchini, yellow squash, and breadcrumbs. Jeff, riding high on a recent compliment, declares that his “T” stands for “Tremendous”.

The hosts note the notoriously unpredictable Michigan autumn weather; while they are currently enjoying a balmy, sunny October “summer that won’t end,” they acknowledge that snow could easily cover the ground by next week. In the classroom, the academic semester has reached the dreaded “mid-semester trough”. Jeff notes that students are exhausted past midterms and cannot quite see the finish line yet. This prompts an insightful reflection on academia: earning a PhD is rarely a test of sheer brilliance, but rather a grueling test of endurance and perseverance. As Thomas Edison famously dictated, genius is ten percent inspiration and ninety percent perspiration.

Before moving to listener mail, Jeff shares a highly elaborate, agonizingly punny story about planning a family spring break trip. With his wife wanting to polish raw gemstones for a mosaic, one son craving carnival rides, another demanding fast food, and Jeff himself just wanting cheap gas, our host brilliantly synthesizes the family’s disparate desires by quoting the band Guns N’ Roses: “Take me down to the fair and fry city where the gas is cheap and the pearls are gritty”.

Listener Mail: Geometric Corrections

The mailbag features a corrigendum from a listener operating under the highly suspicious, hyphenated pseudonym “Gill Witz-Phailed”—whom the hosts instantly recognize as their frequent corrector, Local Will Fitzgerald.

Will writes in to correct Dave’s mathematical analogy from a previous episode regarding a “Fonzie scheme”. While Dave described the scheme as having a “geometric structure” (alluding to the pyramidal shape of a pyramid scheme), Will points out that the progression of recruiting two marks per step is actually an exponential progression ($2^n$), not a geometric one. Will ruthlessly calculates that if there were a step every week, after one year, the scheme would require over four and a half quadrillion fans of the show Happy Days. The hosts take the correction in stride, joking about tapping jukeboxes and running combs through their hair in honor of the Fonz.

Return to the Metamorphoses: The Etiology of Lament

The primary academic focus of Episode 164 is a return to a podcast favorite: Ovid’s Metamorphoses. Having previously covered stories like Apollo and Daphne, Pythagoras, and Arachne, the hosts turn their attention to the tragic tales of Io and Callisto.

The first vignette focuses on Io, a mortal woman who catches the eye of Jupiter. To hide his adultery from his suspicious wife, Juno, Jupiter transforms Io into a snow-white cow. Jeff introduces an article by scholar Lauren Curtis titled Ovid’s Io and the Etiology of Lament. Curtis argues that the Io episode is groundbreaking within the epic because it represents the invention of human writing (as the transformed Io scratches the two letters of her name in the dirt with her hoof to communicate with her father) and serves as an origin story for the human practice of lamenting the cruel, arbitrary suffering inflicted by the gods.

Furthermore, Curtis astutely points out that Io’s very name is a two-syllable Greek exclamation of mourning (“Io! Io!”). However, later in the text, Ovid refers to Apollo as “Paean,” subtly reminding the audience that “Io Paean” is also a traditional cry of joyous worship and praise, showcasing Ovid’s masterful ability to keep his readers constantly off-balance.

Dave reads Stanley Lombardo’s translation of the scene where Io’s father, the river god Inachus, realizes his daughter is a cow. Inachus laments, exclaiming “me miserum” (wretched me), a phrase Curtis notes is ripped straight out of traditional Roman female funeral rituals.

Despite the heavy theme of lament, the hosts highlight Ovid’s undeniable black comedy. Inachus complains that Io can only “bellow and moo in reply” (using the onomatopoeic Latin verb mugire, leading to the joke that she “re-moos” to his words), and he bemoans that her future husband and his future grandchildren must now “come from the herd”. Ovid continuously makes fun of serious things while treating ridiculous scenarios with utmost seriousness.

The Hundred-Eyed Guard and the Fate of Callisto

To ensure Io remains trapped in her bovine prison, Juno assigns Argus—a chimeric monster with one hundred eyes—to guard her.

Unable to endure Io’s suffering, Jupiter sends his son Mercury to assassinate the guard. Mercury descends to earth (pausing to rustle a flock of goats along the way) and uses his musical pipes and a series of incredibly boring, embedded stories to successfully lull all one hundred of Argus’s eyes to sleep before killing him.

The second vignette shifts to Book Two of the Metamorphoses and the story of Callisto. While inspecting the earth after the catastrophic fires of Phaethon, Jupiter spots Callisto, a huntress in the untamed, perfect nature of Arcadia. He desires and possesses her, resulting in the birth of a son named Arcas.

Furious at the birth of her husband’s illegitimate child, Juno takes her vengeance entirely out on the innocent Callisto. Juno throws Callisto face-down in the dirt, and as the girl stretches out her arms in supplication, they begin to bristle with rough black hair. Her hands curve into sharp claws, her power of speech is replaced by a menacing growl, and she is fully transformed into a bear. Ovid executes a brilliant, tragic reversal (peripeteia): the former huntress is now terrified of hunters and the baying hounds that chase her across the rocky ground.

Fifteen years later, her son Arcas is hunting in the woods and stumbles directly upon his mother. Callisto recognizes him and stares, but just as Arcas raises his sharp spear to pierce the bear’s breast, Jupiter finally intervenes. Acting as a deus ex machina, Jupiter whisks them both up into the void in a whirlwind, setting the mother and son in the sky forever as the conjoined constellations Ursa Major and Ursa Minor (the Big and Little Bear).

To analyze this transformation, Jeff cites the Italian scholar Gian Biagio Conte. Conte describes Ovid’s “photographic narrative technique,” where the poet fixates on the visual clarity of the intermediate, liminal phases of the physical change. Ovid emphasizes the horrifying paradox of a human psychology and mind remaining perfectly intact while trapped inside a completely new, bestial form.

Sponsors: Fueling the Classical Renaissance

Before sharing the parting shot, the boys take a moment to thank the fantastic sponsors who support the podcast.

The Gustatory Parting Shot

To officially close out Episode 164, Dave delivers a surprisingly nostalgic Gustatory Parting Shot focused on a pop culture icon rather than a traditional food quote.

He recounts the fascinating biography of Clara Peller. Born Rosha Swerdlova in Imperial Russia in 1902, she moved to Chicago and worked for 35 years as a beauty salon manicurist. Incredibly, at the age of 80, she was hired by the Dancer Fitzgerald Sample advertising agency to act in commercials.

Despite suffering from emphysema, her no-nonsense manner landed her a starring role in a 1984 Wendy’s commercial. Peller played an irascible, crotchety elderly woman who, upon receiving a minuscule hamburger patty on a giant bun from a fictional competitor, famously yelled the outraged demand: 

“Where’s the beef?”

The iconic catchphrase became a massive cultural phenomenon that defined a generation.A special thanks goes out to Mishka the sound engineer, and to Scott Van Zen and Ken Tamplin for the blistering guitar riffs. Beware of jealous deities, check your math on your Ponzi schemes, and keep taking in the classics. Valete!

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