wax tablets

I really don't have a lot to say since we've had a pleasant day of clouds, rain, more clouds... you know after a very misleading spell of warm weather, thank you. On the upside, I've stayed in and have been working my way through the first series of Rome. Now, I honestly don't watch any TV, mostly because I have too much homework all the time and the only series I've been watching religiously is Flight of the Conchords and even that's set to end next Sunday. Sad. So with that preamble, let me bring you to the gist and nub (hub?) of the matter.

I know my sister has already done her top 5 reasons to watch the series, but here are my favorite characters and therefore reasons to watch the show. Some of them are pretty obvious like Vorenus and Antony so I've left them out of my list.

1. The newsreader: Whaaaat. This guy is amazing.
   
   
2. Titus Pullo: CAN WE BE FRIENDS? Besides all that, I also appreciate all his vulgar cursing upon the gods.
   
   
3. Caesar's slave, Posca: I like that he's got an ancient palm pilot known as a portable wax tablet for notes. For those who have not put two and two together yet, palm pilot = Celeste. Unfortunately, Celeste does not have a cool accent... in fact, I'm not sure she can still speak. I'll get back to you on that one. Meanwhile, Mars takes a crap.
   
   
4. Team Atia vs. Team Servilia: Your choice. I won't judge, but everyone else will.

beyootiful

Good news for the lumberjacks amongst us, (you know who you are) beards are back in style. And not the scruffy look that hipsters are rocking all the time, I mean real fucking beards. According to the Guardian, beards are associated with laziness and hippies, but I don't know if I believe that. Then again, what do I know. Personally, I have a problem with facial hair (note: Prince William) because if you resemble a weasel and your name is Dave Seliger, then you're trying too hard.

Beardy folk are okay only if you're Rolf Harris or the weyrd sisters, I suspect. And even then Rolf Harris is not okay. Bearded ladies on the other hand, have an element of class and hilarity... mostly the latter though. I am convinced, however, that Celeste would totally rock the bearded look.

But if you carefully style it to be entered into the World Beard and Mustache Championships, like the seriously elegant man above, I believe it to be a just cause. (Although it is still highly possible that you need some mental help.)

hurrah for celeste!

I decided I had watched enough of the Mighty Boosh and cockney nutjobs for one night, so am watching and live blogging the Superbowl and Celeste must be queefing herself in happiness because the Steelers have basically got this, 27 to 23 in the 4th quarter with 22 seconds. I can't believe I just typed that. I'm also disappointed that I understand what it meant. Anyway, if Celeste is happy, I'm happy. Though I get the feeling I'm expected to have some sort of hometown loyalty shit, but I doubt I would care either way. Whoa!
FUMBLE!
RECOVER!
FLAG!
WHAT THE FUCK?, you may say
I DUNNO!, I say

Apparently they're the first to win six Superbowls now. I hope Celeste celebrates this with a make out sesh, preferably from that douchebag (far left, hard to miss) above! Cut to sad red uniform-wearing players! Confetti! Good night!

partayyy

Okay so today is a really fucking important day. No, not for me. For Celeste. Because the Steelers are going to the fucking Superbowl. I'll be honest I don't give two short flying rat's asses what that's supposed to mean because it's sports related and just thinking about exercise makes me weep cold French tears that Henri Andre is probably rejoicing over while softly caressing his finely toned muscles.
...Okay that was a really weird image on the point of making me physically ill.
I must be a bit hysterical.

Anyway, in honor of this momentous occasion, you should all break out the liquor (obviously), find a little dinosaur friend to cuddle up to (maybe not the one above, he looks like kind of a prick) in your Steelers hot pants and sequined Banana Slugs shirts, and par-tayyy!

celeste is a genius

I knew that Patrick Wolf existed because I heard a while ago that he got beat down for being a simple gay man trying to make out with his boyfriend at a Madonna concert. He took to Electroqueen (dayumm) and in an interview moaned that,

"They just didn't like the fact that I was in hot pants and a sequined hoodie and having a good time."

This explains several things. First and foremost, of course, this is why Celeste likes Madonna... because it's the only place she can wear her sequined Banana Slugs tee and Steelers hot pants and not get stared at. I suspect that Celeste was already aware that you can get ass at these things (er, not Madge's steroid ass, but... you know, dinosaur ass possibly. I'd like to believe there is love for us all out there.)
Anyway, I never really cared about Mr Wolf, here, until I decided to Google image him and realized that he's British, crazy, flamboyantly gay, and most importantly, (albeit fake) GINGER.
So much love.

Bonus!

hot dayumm

Heylo,
If you are expecting to read about my deep philosophical opinions on poetry, Ionesco and Sartre, and talk about important films or whatever, you can be assured that this is not the place to be.
It is highly possible, however, that I will mention things like my disappointment in Venetian art and apprehension about Mannerism, blue book essays on Camus, research on court life under Charles I, celebrated biology teacher and femme fatale Celeste Payne, hipster spotting at the MFA, and the fact that I am a crazy Anglophile with a deep appreciation for things from the 80's and 90's and gingers. But! it's only because I actually manage to weave these things quite easily into conversation.
I hope you can join me in this little experiment of life.
You know what I'm talkin bout.

Finally, if you woke up this morning wishing for an acid trip, but was sorely disappointed, I bring you a crazyass video, in which, I believe the lead singer is called Steve Strange. Too good. If I ever start a band, I would definitely go the Sex Pistols route and make up my name (I'm leaning towards Bunches McGinty... it's got a ring to it, like Sid Vicious).
I am actually shocked that I've never heard of Visage before when they are clearly carbon copies of Boy George but with less Raggedy Andy hair and more drugs and male prostitutes. This is the kind of shit even I could put together with Samwell, his flamboyant backup singers, bedsheets, and my mother's make-up. Sounds sexy, if not disturbing. You're welcome.