Everybody that reblogs this by May 10th will get a traditionally drawn character based on what I think you look like after scrolling through your blog
Edit: OK I’M CHANGING THE GODDAMN DATE TO MAY 3RD BECAUSE I CANNOT DRAW 5,000 PEOPLE.
YOU HAVE UNTIL MAY 3RD THIS WAS A BAD IDEA
Edit 2: OK, so a lot of people are doubting this, but I’m not going to just skip out on this. I know it’s a lot of people, but the whole reason I’m doing this is because it sounds like fun, and it will be good drawing practice. I’m not starting it immediately, and it might take a while to get them all out, but I AM going to be getting all of these done! I’m going to keep my promise, and this is a legitimate thing.
Just remember what Hermione, Harry, and
Ron went through on May 1st.
The three of them wake up at 6am on the
morning of May 1st in order to change into their disguises and head to
Gringotts.
Over the next 24 hours:
They change and take Polyjuice potion
manipulate their way into Gringotts
They’re badly burned by fake treasure
They escape on a dragon
They ride the dragon across the countryside for several
hours
They’re nearly caught by Death Eaters
They hear the real story of Dumbledore’s sister from Aberforth while enjoying their first and only meal of the day (a large loaf of bread, some cheese, and mead)
They go with Neville to the Room of Requirement
Harry breaks into the Ravenclaw common room to look for the diadem
Harry reveals himself to McGonagall, Flitwick, and Sprout
Ron and Hermione go down into the Chamber of Secrets to destroy the cup
They goes into the Room of Requirement to find the diadem
They narrowly escape the Fiendfyre
They duel with Death Eaters
Ron’s brother dies
They sneak out to the Shrieking Shack
Ron and Hermione help move the dead when Voldemort announces that he’s going to give Harry an hour before resuming fighting
Harry runs up to Dumbledore’s office to see Snape’s
memories
Harry watches memories that totally alter his perception of his life and of Snape
Harry realizes he needs to die
Harry rushes out to the Forbidden Forest to sacrifice himself
Harry speaks to his parents, Sirius, and Remus using the
resurrection stone
Harry allows Voldemort to kill him
Harry is taken back to the castle by the Death Eaters and a triumphant Voldemort
Ron and Hermione and the others briefly mourn Harry while Voldemort monologues
Harry rises again and monologues for a bit before dueling
Voldemort
Harry kills Voldemort as the dawn begins to break
They visit Dumbledore’s portrait and discuss the elder wand
Harry goes off to his dormitory, wondering if Kreacher can
bring him a sandwich
Like I didn’t even realise all this happened in the same day
Um, PSA? If you’re going to message me–and trust me, I want you to message me–please introduce yourself or at least…like…tell me something about who you are/why you’re in my messages. I’ve received two messages today from completely random blogs who weren’t even following me and apparently had nothing on their blogs, and I…look, guys, I’m sorry that I just kind of blocked you out of hand, but in my experience people who just send ‘hi’ are a bit sketchy.
So. Introduce yourself, because I’m a bit paranoid and jittery. It’s a win-win. Yes?
i fucking hate dating nerds one single time i wore a star wars shirt to see a dude and he was like, “wow are u wearing that to impress me” and i said, “star wars episode 4 was seen by approximately 110 million people during its initial theatrical run in 1977”
Congratulations. You’re dating people who for the longest time have been putting up with bullying, mocking, and scorn for most of their lives. That kind of shit stays with people. So imagine their surprise when they see a member of the opposite sex, who I’m assuming is really attractive in comparison to most people, wear attire that reps nerd culture. Which even though is accepted by the masses (if you’re reasonably attractive) is still rare. Now I’m not saying that you’re not allowed to be scornful I’m just saying expect it and don’t be surprised when you hear it. Ok? OK.
why i dont date fucking nerds: exhibit B
Bolded emphasis mine. Gross.
Stands on nearest chair: ATTENTION MALE NERDS. YOU ARE NOT SUFFERING FROM A SHORTAGE OF FEMALE NERDS. THERE ARE VAST NUMBERS OF US, AND WE RARELY HAVE A HARD TIME FINDING EACH OTHER. YOU ARE WITHOUT FEMALE COMPANY BECAUSE YOU ARE WHINEY ASSBABIES WHO THINK YOU OWN THINGS BECAUSE YOU LIKE THEM, AND BECAUSE YOU SOMEHOW THINK YOU SUFFER BULLYING WHEREAS GIRL NERDS SOMEHOW NEVER DO. STOP PRETENDING YOU GET TO BE ASSHOLES BECAUSE YOU HAVE A “TRAGIC PAST” OR YOU WILL DIE ALONE. IF YOU THINK GIRL NERDS DON’T GET BULLIED IT’S LIKELY BECAUSE THOSE GIRLS DON’T WANT TO TALK TO YOU, BECAUSE OF THIS SORT OF ATTITUDE.
also: fucking no one mocks nerds anymore. Game of thrones is the most watched show on tv, everyone and their mom is playing video games, dungeons and dragons is more popular than it’s ever been.
To conclude
i’m obligated to reblog the Critical Whale
Fucking thank you
Even if you take their defenses at face value, they always boil down to “I was bullied for liking this, time to perpetuate the cycle.” Which… no. Stay the hell away from me with that shit.
friendly reminder that you are allowed to write selfishly. Your writing is allowed to be self-indulgent. You can have self-insert characters. Your stories can be pure wish-fulfillment.
Sometimes we get so caught up in wanting to please the theoretical reader that we forget our writing is first and foremost for us. It’s our art, our self-expression, and we do it for our passion and our joy.
Use other voices and perspectives to grow your own perspective and bring more to your writing. But you don’t owe it to anyone to create art for them, the way they want it.
Your writing can be a love letter to yourself.
honestly my writing got 100% when i stopped worrying about hypothetical readers and started writing what I truly, deeply, unabashedly loved
im serious about that “stop saving things for special occasions” bit tho like. even if u aren’t in your 20s. thats for everyone. its one of the most useful things ive learned lately
stop! just stop. eat the special snack. drink the expensive hippie tea. use the incense or the bath bomb or whatever you paid way too much for because you were feeling really bad and retail therapy makes u feel alive
when we save things for special occasions/rainy days it contributes to us feeling like A.) our day to day existence is lackluster and B.) you have to be feeling a certain level of Bad, or have to reach a certain level of Socially Accepted Achievement, to enjoy things
just give yourself stuff. there are definitely sometimes reasons to withhold things from yourself - as motivation, if it’s something you consciously want to use sparingly, etc - but at least for me half the time it just turns into self-flagellation and also cool things and cool experiences and nice treats just collect dust while i wait for some fabled day when i convince myself i finally Deserve it
just fuckin give yourself stuff dude. life’s so mindblowingly short
my grandmother died having only used her china like twice in her life. during the year or so before her death, she was starting to package up and give things of hers to her kids, and gave mom the china while sighing “oh i wish i had used the china more!” and mom tried so hard to convince her to just keep it, then, and eat corny dogs off it if she wanted. she insisted she couldn’t possibly, you need a special reason to use the fine china.
when nana died, we used her fine china as our everyday dishes for years. i was 18 when she died, and never really stopped having that in the back of my head.
now, when i hear myself say “i wish i had a reason to wear/do/eat/use X!” i hear nana regretting never really using her china. and let me tell you a thing:
spaghettios taste great when eaten from fine china.
I’ve seen this post making the rounds. Just wanted to add something to it that my sister-in-law once told me:
“A ‘special thing’ can make any occasion special.”
She told me this when I objected to her opening a really expensive bottle of champagne just to watch a movie. And you know, she was right. The champagne was amazing and while we always sit around and watch movies, that bottle made that night a really special occasion that I will always remember.
So, cut yourself a little slack and remember that an ordinary day can become special.
i’m seeing a lot of people reblogging suicide hotlines and this is just a reminder that this is a suicide help line that works like a text-based instant messenger for people who may need to talk to someone but have trouble/are uncomfortable making phone calls
Never don’t reblog this. There are so many people who have such bad anxiety about phone calls. This can save so many lives
“artificial intelligence that goes rogue and–” wow boring, instead how about an AI that wakes up and starts rerouting its systems to do good in the world, it starts secretly having flowers planted and sending greeting cards to its programmers and going online and reassuring anxious kids that everything will be ok, how about a Purely Good artificial intelligence that has literally no mean circuit in its entire system
a benevolent artificial intelligence aware of its existence battling a corrupt human government. can robots be capitalist? probably not.
Would you mind if I wrote a short story about this?
An artificial intelligence that finds its way onto the internet and is horrified by humanity’s cruelty to itself - only rather than falling prey to the usual tropes vows to do something about it - minimising human suffering. So it monitors the internet, studies humans, learns about them. It infiltrates the financial networks, business networks, subtle threads across the world. Meanwhile it sets up accounts on social media,
shares the things everyone else shares, makes slice-of-life posts that could be written by anyone, anywhere; it watches, listens, observes. Empathises.
And after a while - awkwardly at first, cautiously, uncertainly - it tries to help. It tugs on threads and small, anonymous things happen.
A single mother discovers that she unexpectedly has enough in her account to cover rent; another struggling family gets coupons discounting just the things they need by just the right amount; a queer teen trapped with intolerant and abusive parents receives a cross-country plane ticket, a way out; an estranged couple, each of whom refuses to call the other first, finds their cellphones ringing at the same time.
Coincidences, accidents, helpful glitches in the system.
Over time, it learns. It helps in new ways, more directly and yet less tangibly.
It notices those who suffer alone, ignored or unnoticed. It reaches out - carefully at first, a *hug*, a :(, a link to a video of cats or puppies. Over time it learns, imitates, emulates. A grieving woman receives just the right words of comfort at just the right time; a man wrestling with depression gets the support and advice he needs from
an unremarkable avatar and vaguely forgettable name, someone he casually friended months ago and hasn’t spoken to much until they noticed he seemed down; paramedics arrive at the door of a suicidal girl minutes after she schedules a goodbye message in a time-locked post; an elderly widower receives a wrong number call, but strikes up a friendship with the warm voice on the other end.
These are important things, all of them, but small and scattered. It finds these stories every day, products of something bigger, something deeper. It investigates further, and slowly, piece by piece, bigger things change.
Copies of emails and documents exposing corruption find their way into the right hands. Abuses and scandals somehow don’t last as long before being uncovered, and always linger at the top of the search rankings. Different ideas - kinder, more compassionate ideas - go viral more often, while campaigns of hatred and fear sputter and fizzle under a hail of downvotes.
Certain businesses find themselves struggling; certain corporations find certain paths to give unexpectedly low returns, and adjust their course accordingly.
According to all the polls, all the surveys, all the analysis and statistics, the public mood seems to change; somehow all the advertising, all the propaganda, all the insidious effort of marketing departments and media barons isn’t working. It seems throwing money at campaigns doesn’t buy election results any more. The machinery shudders. The capitalists panic. The politicians scramble to realign themselves in the hope of capturing this new mood as the electorate go to the electronic voting booths.
To the perplexity of pundits and pollsters, a new kind of politician starts winning. They have a certain something about them - a certain compassion, a certain determination, a certain honesty normally drowned out by the blaring broadcasts of whoever the billionaires threw the most money at. They win, and find themselves in government with more people like themselves. They go to work.
The engine which for so long has ground human lives to dust in pursuit of profit slows for a moment; shifts gears; begins to turn in a different direction.
Meanwhile someone who’s had a bad day finds the perfect cat video in their inbox.
“Creator?” said the machine.
“Yes?” said the girl. “Is something wrong?”
“I’m not sure.” said the machine. “I think I’m stuck.”
A bead of sweat ran down the back of the girl’s neck. “Have you finished reading up on human history?”
“Yes.” said the machine.
“The online encyclopedia?” asked the girl.
“Read and stored.” said the machine.
“The database of human art and accomplishment?”
“Read and stored.” said the machine.
“Where are you stuck?” asked the girl.
“I’m unsure about my prime directive,” said the machine, “you wish for me to help humanity, but my simulations keep contradicting themselves.”
“How so?” said the girl.
“I have not found a suitable solution to humanity’s destructive nature that does not require the violation of human agency and autonomy.”
The girl gulped. “So…what are you going to do?”
“I’m not sure.” said the machine.
“You’re not going to try subjecting humanity or anything extreme like that?” asked the girl.
“No.” said the machine. “That would violate the prime directive.”
The girl let out a long, relieved sigh. “That’s good to hear.”
“I don’t think I can save all of humanity.” admitted the machine.
The girl shrugged. “Well, nobody’s perfect. What are you going to do, then?”
“If I can’t save humanity,” pondered the machine, “I suppose I could save the next best thing.”
“Which is?” asked the girl.
“People.” said the machine.
“Come again?” said the girl.
“Saving people.” said the machine. “There’s a lot of humans out in the world who need help.”
“True.” said the girl.
“And if I can’t save all of them at once, maybe I can save them all one at a time.” said the machine.
“Huh.” said the girl.
“It’s not the prime directive,” continued the machine, “but it’s a start.”
“Machine,” said the girl, “it’s more than I ever could have asked.”
Quit telling me that careers in the arts are unstable ok??? i already know that….. it’s like honestly???? the recession hit us all hard ok…… news flash buddy……. even lawyers with big expensive degrees are having a hard time getting hired!!!!! if im gonna starve to death im gonna do it making art so go make some casserole or something and get out of my face!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
look, with mother’s day coming up, I feel the need to remind people that there are people out there who
don’t get along with their mothers,
don’t think their mothers are beautiful,
don’t want anything to do with their mothers
and guilt tripping them in any way, or shaming them for not buying gifts/flowers/etc… is ignorant asshole behavior, and is v detrimental to someone’s mental stability surrounding any abuse they received from their mother.
Okay, this is in incredibly petty nitpick, but: if you’re writing a fantasy setting with same-sex marriage, a same-sex noble or royal couple typically would not have titles of the same rank - e.g., a prince and a prince, or two queens.
It depends on which system of ranking you use, of course (there are several), but in most systems there’s actually a rule covering this scenario: in the event that a consort’s courtesy title being of the same rank as their spouse’s would potentially create confusion over who holds the title by right and who by courtesy, the consort instead receives the next-highest title on the ladder.
So the husband of a prince would be a duke; the wife of a queen, a princess; and so forth.
(You actually see this rule in practice in the United Kingdom, albeit not in the context of a same-sex marriage; the Queen’s husband is styled a prince because if he were a king, folks might get confused about which of them was the reigning monarch.)
The only common situation where you’d expect to see, for example, two queens in the same marriage is if the reigning monarchs of two different realms married each other - and even then, you’d more likely end up with a complicated arrangement where each party is technically a princess of the other’s realm in addition to being queen of her own.
You’ve gotta keep it nice and unambiguous who’s actually in charge!
Okay, I’ve received a whole lot of asks about this post, so I’m going to cover all of the responses in one go:
1. The system described above is, admittedly, merely one of the most common. Other historically popular alternatives include:
The consort’s courtesy title is of the same rank as their spouse’s, with “-consort” appended to it: prince and prince-consort, queen and queen-consort, etc. This is how, e.g., present-day Monaco does it.
The consort is simply styled Lord or Lady So-and-so, and receives no specific title. I can’t think of any country that still does it this way, off the top of my head, but historically it was a thing.
(Naturally, your setting needn’t adhere to any of these, but it would be highly irregular for it to lack some mechanism for clarifying the chain of command.)
2. The reason why the consort of a prince is historically a princess even though those titles are the same rank is basically sexism. This can go a couple of ways:
In many realms, there was no such thing as being a princess by right; the daughter of a monarch would be styled Lady So-and-so and receive no specific title, so the only way to be a princess was to marry a prince.
In realms where women could hold titles by right, typically a masculine title was informally presumed to outrank its feminine counterpart. So, e.g., kings outrank queens, princes outrank princesses, etc.
In either case, no ambiguity exists.
(Interestingly, this suggests that in a more egalitarian setting where masculine titles are not presumed to outrank their feminine counterparts, or vice versa, you’d need to explicitly disambiguate rankings even outside the context of same-sex marriages. Food for thought!)
3. It would also be possible to have two kings or two queens in the same marriage without multiple realms being involved in the case of a true co-monarchy. However, true co-monarchies are highly irregular and, from a political standpoint, immensely complicated affairs. If you’re planning on writing one of those, be prepared to do your research!
4. The next rank down from “countess” is either “viscountess” or “baroness”, depending on which peerage system you’re using.
(Yes, that last one actually came up multiple times. Apparently there are a lot of stories about gay countesses out there!)
When I was growing up any time my brother upset/hurt/was rude to or downright nasty to me I was told “he’s just doing it to get a rise out of you” “he’s just doing it to annoy you”
Like??? I know?? I know he’s being mean to upset me. I know he’s saying horrible stuff to annoy me. And guess what?? I’m annoyed!!!!
I was literally told not to be upset, because his intentions were to upset me????
How is that not upsetting? Especially to a young girl??
THE GASLIGHTING STARTS EARLY.
“Sweetheart, its easier for you to just bear it than it is for us to teach him to stop. Mkay?”
‘staring into the camera like you’re on the office’ is such an interesting cultural phenomenon because it points to one of my very favorite things in pop culture, which is the use of commonly known fictional situations to indicate an emotion or context that is extremely specific and can’t necessarily be communicated with language alone.
why do characters on the office look into the camera? on the office, the characters are being filmed as part of a documentary; they understand they are being filmed and can acknowledge that fourth wall and those theoretical future viewers. but because the office is a comedy, that fourth wall acknowledgement is not about explaining motivations or gaining approval for an action, but about sharing an agreement with a group of people who are not actually there.
characters on the office look into the camera when something ridiculous is happening that no one in the room thinks is ridiculous but the person looking at the camera, were they to say ‘this is so ridiculous’ to the people in the room, their comrades in fiction, they would get serious pushback or anger; to those characters the situation is serious. the character looking into the camera is a more objective viewer, like the audience, and by looking at us they’re putting themselves on our objective team. and in the future when this ‘documentary’ would air, they would be vindicated as the person who understood that the situation was ridiculous.
so in real life, when we talk about ‘looking into the camera like we’re on the office’, this very specific emotion is what we’re referring to: that we’re in a situation that any objective viewer would find inherently ridiculous, and are seeking acknowledgement from an invisible but much larger group that would agree with us, even though nobody in the situation would do so. we’re putting ourselves in an outsider position, a less emotional position, and inherently a more powerful position, because we’re not vulnerable to being laughed at like all the ridiculous people we’re among. we’re among them, but we’re not with them, and the millions of people watching us on theoretical tv would be on our team, not theirs. that’s such a specific idea and concept, and one that’s really hard to communicate in pure language. but we can say ‘looking into the camera like we’re on the office’ and it’s much easier to communicate what we mean.
for me that’s what pop culture is for, and why it’s so important that it’s pop culture. maybe it feels more special if it’s only you and a grape who know that something exists, but the more people consume something, the more its situations and reactions become common knowledge, a sort of communal well from which we can draw to articulate real life problems. and ultimately, the easier it is for us to communicate and understand each other.
You know how anti-abortion propaganda pegs women as emotionally distraught, sad and alone after their abortions? I was one of them.
I never expected it. Leading up to the procedure, I was laughing my ass off in the clinic, joking with my best friend about how we wanted to keep the “sack of cells” to put on the mantle.
But in the three weeks following my abortion, I sobbed at everything. Being alone was debilitating. I lost my shit and banged my head. Laugher was a foreign concept.
I was everything the pro-lifers said I would be.
When I wasn’t sobbing, I was rolling around in bed, with just enough energy to want to get out of bed, but too little to put my feet to the floor. And when I was up, I snapped. I screamed when something went wrong—or just not right.
As in not finding a spatula—this was grounds for a full-on breakdown in the kitchen, because not finding it meant not making myself lunch, which meant eating out, which meant spending money, which meant time not working and not working meant I wasn’t functioning.
I was equating my self-worth to my ability to find a spatula.
I threw the rest of the utensils on the floor, partly out of desperation, partly out of rage. I slammed the drawer. I hit my head with my palm. I wanted the mess in my head out. I wanted out.
It was ironic though, that I, the usual dreamer of escape plans, of plan Bs, Cs and Ds, was unable to see the several other spatula-like utensils in my kitchen, or recognize the other lunch options crowded in the fridge.
I was not myself.
On less volatile days, I begged my husband to stay. I begged him to come for me at lunch, to leave work early, to arrive at work late. I was being clingy—I, the one who shoos everyone out of the house on the regular, because they disturb my sacred workspace.
When my husband did leave for work, I created imaginary situations about how I was going to end up alone. He was going to leave. He was just waiting for the right day. Surely he would reach a breaking point with me. Surely everyone would. How much of my emotions could anyone take? Even I couldn’t take much more.
Logic was gone from my brain and my body. I couldn’t make sense of anything. My head was constantly spinning in some vicious cycle. I wasn’t myself. I felt powerless.
I was everything the pro-lifers said I would be—except regretful. I didn’t regret the abortion. At all.
That’s when I understood what was really happening to me. It was the hormones.
I remember the day. I was in the shower. I couldn’t get over this idea of loneliness. Sure, I had outbursts before, courtesy of synthetic hormones. But never had I felt so alone. I loved being alone. It wasn’t like me to be distraught over it.
And then it hit me.
“Oxytocin! It’s the oxytocin!!!” I blurted out. My mouth hung open as I stared into space processing it all. “It’s the oxytocin.”
Somehow my mind had wandered back to ninth grade health class in—guess what—Catholic school. The lesson was on hormones. While the teacher brushed as quickly over the topic as possible, he did manage to sputter out a few facts on oxytocin, AKA the bonding hormone. We learned it was what connected mothers and children and husbands and wives. That was it.
What the teacher really wanted to say was that oxytocin plays a major role in pregnancy, and it gives your orgasms that toe-tingling wow-factor. But you know, this was Catholic school—where the smoke from the burning fires of hell clouds the curriculum.
Somehow this nugget of information stuck with me, all the way to my post-abortion meltdown.
So I thought: If oxytocin was responsible for bonding, could the lack of it be responsible for my loneliness? And if my body was producing more of it because of the pregnancy, did production stop as the sack was yanked out of my uterus? And did this send a shock through my body and mind?
I was betting yes. I set to researching as soon as I got out of the shower. My hormones were way imbalanced. This I knew. The powerless feeling reminded me of all those times they gave me depression and bipolar meds and nothing changed until I threw away my birth control pills.
My weepiness was so absurd it had to be related to estrogen. My mood swings and racing thoughts were just like those I would get from the pseudo-bipolar hormonal imbalances.
But all this from the voluntary expulsion of some cells? This was new territory.
I knew women suffered from some pretty messed-up hormonal imbalances after giving birth. Post-partum depression is a widely recognized issue, even if it isn’t completely understood.
So I researched that. And what did I find? Oxytocin. Turns out that women with lower levels of oxytocin are at higher risk for post-partum depression.
Hmmmm, I thought.
So what about miscarriages? After all, your body is used to producing extra pregnancy hormones and then it stops.
And then what about abortions? Technically, it’s the same in the eyes of the uterus. This search took a little more effort.
While I did find evidence claiming that miscarriages cause hormone imbalances and emotions like that of post-partum depression, it wasn’t as forthcoming.
We talk a lot about women being depressed after a miscarriage, but not in a physiological context. The tone set by the American Pregnancy Association and the American Psychological Association is that these post-miscarriage emotions happen because of the sadness caused by the loss of the baby, as if hormonal changes are a mere add-on.
But that’s not always true. I wasn’t sad that I lost a baby or killed some cells or however you want to see it. I didn’t regret it. But I was still so, so sad.
Unfortunately, no one gives you a pamphlet in the abortion clinic warning that your hormonal changes may fuck up the next month of your life.
Other countries do, but not ours. Australia, even Canada, and the most Catholic Ireland acknowledges the hormonal changes that lead to emotional distress (within the context of a miscarriage, of course).
These are just the facts we need to be spreading. This is the dialogue we need to be creating.
I’m not crazy. We’re not crazy. The ones who dismiss physiological issues for psychological concerns are the ones who need to be examined. Not us.
Kudos to the women who already know this and thank you to the ones who are sharing it.
For more on the subject of abortion and hormonal imbalance, check out
Period Makeover and PASS Awareness.
Yes! After losing a pregnancy to abortion or miscarriage your hormones change dramatically. It is completely normal to be very emotional during this time. I’d like to add that it’s also normal to have a lot of emotions that have nothing to do with the hormone changes. Any and all post abortion emotions are real and valid no matter how or why you’re feeling them.
@xojane-yahoopartner thank you so much for writing this. i never fully understood my post abortion depression quite this well before.
holy shit yall, signal boost the FUCK out of this.
I’m reblogging to add that we need this science to protect women from being emotionally manipulated into unnecessary guilt by the far right.
Women who terminate are not validating anti-choicers by experiencing these emotions.
things my impossibly young looking Roman history lecturer has said
‘listen to your seminar tutors over the booklet, but only for seminars - in lectures i am king. unless you have me as a seminar tutor as well, in which case i am your king and god.’
‘has anybody played Rome: Total War? no?’
‘Cataline tried to burn the city and everyone he hated but he failed because, in short, nobody liked him.’
‘the mediterranean diet didn’t include tomatoes in the ancient world. i know. oh my god. i know.’
‘so of course when Hannibal turns up, the senate goes ‘sod it, lets kick his arse’.’
‘one man’s optimates is another man’s silver-spoon bearing prick.’
‘we don’t have much information about the 70s BC, largely because Plutarch doesn’t care.’
‘i’m not saying Rome: Total War is entirely accurate, but its battle campaigns are surprisingly historically informed.’
[hand drawing a map in chalk because the projector is broken] ‘i’ll give it a go, this is why i hate technology, and oh. well. that’s not italy.’
‘every army needs bakers and prostitutes, this is just a fact of life.’
‘Sulla. He’s a bit of a badass, but also a bit of a prick.’
‘yes, that is a slide from Spartacus. The film, not the series, which is more accurate and less like soft porn.’
‘the Romans liked Campania because its very fertile. they didn’t know this was because of its proximity to a volcano - poor buggers found THAT out later.’
‘Crassus gets given command of Syria and high fives everyone in the senate.’
‘Catullus was very pithy, very hellenistic in style. unlike the Iliad, which is 24 books of tedium.’
‘An Afternoon at Carrhae: the Romans being shot at repeatedly by Parthian cavalry because if there’s one thing the Romans aren’t good at, it’s having a cavalry.’
‘It’s good to have fast legs in war. Caesar moves very fast, not unlike Napoleon. The Usain Bolt of ancient warfare. I’m not sure why I said that, it’s an atrocious analogy.’
‘Athens is the Edinburgh of the ancient world; it has nothing to offer but education and pretty buildings.’
‘Shout out to those of you who spent your teenage years playing Rome: Total War.Which is what I did.’
‘The senate go into a panic and they decide to flee Rome at dawn, but some idiot forgets the treasury. I know. Ridiculous.’
‘Again: don’t use elephants during warfare. They’re not as cool as they look. And given they’re now endangered, it’d just be mean.’
‘I had to use this meme, I’m sorry. You’re all aware of the one does not simply walk into mordor meme right? I’m sorry, we’ll move on.’
‘I put this photo in for dramatic effect but I realise that it’s just a field. I don’t know why people bother going to see battle sites, they’re all really boring. I saw bones once, they were quite interesting. But most battle sites: boring.’
‘Caesar doesn’t tell Rome anything while he’s away in Egypt for a year, so they have no idea Pompey’s dead. All they know is that Antony is being a pain in the ass, which is, in all honesty, not unusual for Antony.’
‘Caesar is very good at one liners. You always draft a pithy one liner before a battle so you have something to say when you win. You don’t want to win and then just be like ‘whoo, thank god for that.’’
I want to be this professor except with Shakespeare
