Friday, January 12, 2007

Roman Holiday

Rome. Oh, Rome. I've been indulging in repeats of the first season, and it's so completely gross and disturbing and amazing, I cannot tear my eyes away. That was before I saw it in high definition, mind you. Now blood and body parts come flying straight at me off of forty-six inches of flat-screen perfection. And what of Cleopatra? Cleopatra, with her buzzcut and crazy sing-song voice, is insane.

Is it wrong? Is it wrong that I cannot wait for Sunday when the second and final season begins? Then, dear ones, let me be wrong.

Oscar, are you there? Rome will erase every memory you have of what's-his-name (he of the hair extensions and excessively bronzed and oiled legs) yelling, "Is there no one else?"

If I were in Caesar's Rome, I would declare slowly and with undisguised yet quiet rage (perhaps while grabbing your gold-edged tunic):

Alas, I am in the blogosphere and must put it this way:

I'm just sayin'.


Oscar said...

hola ms ver,
i am currently without cable but will be looking out for "Rome" on DVD, foh sures.

in the meantime, i have stopped quoting mister jolie and am now quoting one bruce leroy at ill advised times. i.e., asking small children, when they need a late pass; who's da mastah???

to which the children dutifully reply: SHONUFF!

love ya like ceasar loved a good senate meeting!

ver said...

Okay, Mr. Bermeo, well I guess that's better than making them beg on their knees. Right? Right?

And this just in from me, on the couch, having finished watching the season opener. Final scene: Lucius Vorenus ascending a staircase while clutching the head—yes, just the blood-draining head—of scumbag Orestes Fulmen. And behind Lucius, of course, walks the ever-loyal Titus Pullo.

For the record, I'm aware that this description is striking a chord for, sadly, only two of my blog readers. Hello Spousal Unit! Hello Libby!