The Day the Republic Died

Robitussin is the opiate of the masses. Of course, by that, I'm implying that "masses" means my lungs and "opiate" means "thing that makes my lungs feel slightly better and less wheezy and somewhat clear of the thick, yellow lung butter that flies up my trachea when I cough".

As you might remember, a week ago or so, I was begging for your pity telling you about how I was afflicted with some mild form of palsy pox plague head cold. Well, I'm afflicted anew, or again, or I'm still afflicted, and now it's moved from my head down into my chest. Or maybe I've caught something new. Whatever it is, this hanta virus rubeola typhoid lung infection has stifled my creativity for the past few days. More than that, it's inspired me to lay around bemoaning the sad state of affairs that have led me to being stricken by the Plague, which has seriously cut into my time for writing this blog and for me to be out sexually harassing you in your comments sections reading and commenting on your blogs.

See, the thing about this illness is that it's been holding me down, giving me Dutch rubs for two weeks. Usually, it's my wife who is sick for two weeks, whereas I get a sniffly nose for a day or so, and then I'm back to trying to get her to engage in some sexual egress, despite the thermometer sticking out of her mouth and the sickly blush brought to her nose and cheekbones.

It's very fitting that I'm still dying of sickness and disease, because today is the day that the Roman Republic died. Hooray! Okay, so maybe it wasn't today per se (did you like how I worked a little Latin into that?), but today is the anniversary of the Battle of Actium, fought in 31 BC. The forces of Octavian--he who had been adopted by his great-uncle Julius Caesar--routed Cleopatra's army, which was assisted by forces that were loyal to Mark Antony (who was Caesar's second cousin). In case you weren't paying attention during history class and in case you haven't read Shakespeare's Antony and Cleopatra (tut, tut), you'll do well to remember that Antony was boning Cleopatra.

Now, when Caesar was assassinated, Octavian, Antony and this other cat named Marcus Aemilius Lepidus set themselves up as political allies. They set about hunting down Cassius and Brutus for the murder of Caesar. After that was completed, things fell apart when Antony and Octavian came to a disagreement--most likely over who was going to going to navigate the Egyptian Queen's Nile Delta, if you know what I'm saying--and the dispute erupted into civil war within the Roman Republic.

Actually, truth be told, Antony was married to Octavian's sister, so when Octavian heard that Antony was plowing Cleopatra, he was none too pleased. In order to keep Cleopatra's trap shut, Antony ceded large tracts of lands in the eastern part of the Republic to her and her son. Cleopatra ruled Egypt jointly with her son, Ptolemy Caesar, also known as Caesarion (Little Caesar). He wasn't called Little Caesar just because of his awesome pizzapizza deals. In fact, Caesarion's father was none other than Julius Caesar, which of course made him a half-cousin to the men vying for power, but also made him a political threat. When word came back to Rome that big chunks of the eastern part of the Republic had just been given to someone else, the Senate was up in arms.

Seizing this opportunity, Octavian called Antony on it, and there began a power struggle. However, Octavian had control of the western parts of the Republic, which included Rome, so it wasn't too difficult to demonize Antony, and soon people were calling for Antony's blood.

Things came to a head on September 2nd, 31 BC at the Battle of Actium, which was a sea battle fought just off the west coast of Greece near the Ionian Sea. Antony's forces were routed, which essentially secured all of Rome for Octavian. Not one to leave enemies in his wake, Octavian pursued Antony and Cleopatra. Again, their forces clashed near Alexandria in Egypt, this time in a land battle. And by "clashed" I mean that Antony's forces saw they were outnumbered 2-to-1, causing them to immediately defect or surrender to Octavian as he approached.

All the while, Antony is watching from a tower in Alexandria. You can almost hear him screaming "sonuvabitch!" from that tower window as he watched the white flag wave (Antony's forces were largely comprised of soldier from the Italian peninsula, so I can't even levy any insults toward Gaul here). Having had enough, Antony did the honorable thing and fell on his sword--badly. Apparently, during the course of falling on his blade, he...missed...merely giving himself a flesh wound. If this guy were a baseball franchise, he'd be the Chicago Cubs. The badly-wounded Antony was taken back to Cleopatra's chambers, where he lingered for a bit, but finally succumbed to his self-inflicted wound, dying in J. Lo's Cleopatra's arms...leaving her to face Octavian alone.

Nothing says "love" quite like leaving your paramour to deal with an angry political rival and his enormous army.

Cleopatra immediately begged Octavian for mercy. Despite her pleas for mercy, Octavian opted for the non-compassionate route, and told Cleopatra she would have "a special role" in Octavian's triumphant return to Rome. He did this while killing and butchering her son--essentially turning "Little Caesar" into "Littler Pieces of Caesar." I told you he was not one to leave an enemy behind.

"Fuck this," Cleopatra said, and killed herself, either by sticking her hand in a jar containing an asp or by simply ingesting a poison. Either way, she was dead, and so was the Roman Republic. Octavian returned to Rome triumphant, having seized direct control of all the lands commanded by the Roman forces. Elated, the Senate rewarded him with the name "Augustus" and the title "Princeps" (First Citizen). As there was no one left to challenge his power and authority, Augustus then became the first Roman Emperor. Through his wanton slaughter of Antony's supporters, the fifty Roman legions at his back, and the massive armada he commanded, Augustus began what was known as the "Pax Romana" (Roman Peace), which is still the longest continuous period of peace in continental Europe's history. It essentially lasted from 30 BC to 476 AD when Odoacer deposed the last Roman Emperor, Romulus Augustulus.

So, you'll forgive me if I've been a little lax in the whole posting thing, because I've been sick. And, I hope you forgive me for the little wrap up here at the end, because it is truly, truly terrible. In case you can't tell, you should sing this to Don MacLean's American Pie, thus making it truly groan-worthy:

So, say 'bye-bye' to the Republic, guys,
Antony was partin' Cleopatra's thighs,
And Octavian started spreading these vile lies,
That Antony was messing with his family ties,
Saying this would the day that Marcus dies,
This would be the day that he dies...

I swear, it was the Robitussin talking. Now, pass me another little shot glass full of the stuff and let me get back to sleep.

Afflicted by the Plague

I was going to write something here yesterday, but I didn't. Nothing like understating the blatantly obvious, I realize, but that's me. The reason for my lack of writing is that I've been taken down by the smallest of foes: the nefarious summer cold virus.

I'm not sure how this little bastard snuck into my body. Actually, I do. My wife has been fighting the nefarious summer cold for days now. At night, when reclining in bed together, she's been breathing her noxious, infectious miasma upon me. Thus it is that the aforementioned nasty little bugger has entered into the temple that is my body and has rendered me eloquently exhausted, which is truly unfortunate for one who refers to himself as "indefatigable."

I mean, I've been afflicted with much worse maladies. At the beginning of the summer, I was struck down by the flu, and it might have even been the most vile and worrisome Swine Flu! Take to the streets, screaming and running now. At the time, our buddy H1N1 was running rampant upon his pale horse through the streets of my little swath of North By God Carolina. And yet, I got up everyday, took the kids to school, and I shuffled off to work where I reformed matter to satisfy my desire. I hardly batted an eye in the face of that most terrible and horrendous affliction! Ha ha! Do your worst! I laugh in your piggy little porcine eyes.

But this? This little sniffle has grabbed me by the lapels and dragged me down into the very depths of wanton despair and lassitude. It's nothing more than a stuffed up head--though, my head is filled with a most heinous and syrupy mass of vibrant green pudding--and a bit of a sore throat, but the true nature of this beast is one that has rendered me...dare I say it...fatigued!

This isn't any typical exhaustion. It's a kind of languor that seems to accumulate in my limbs, making my hands and feet feel as if they weigh a hundred pounds apiece. It's difficult to drag them from one place to another, and while my dear friend--the Target brand knock-off of Dayquil--does help me to feel better, it's a temporary thing. As the four hour time period begins to wind down, the heaviness returns to my hands and feet and--worst of all--my eyelids.

So, if you'll forgive me, I'm not going to be blogging yesterday, as I'm trying to recover from this vile and unctuous pathosis. In fact, if you'll excuse me, I think I'm going to go take a nap, so that I can return to normal blogging activities in the near future.

I'm Just About Up to Erectus

So, I had grand plans of filling the weekend void with more small nuggets of joy from my otherwise boring-ass life. These plans, of course, were all derailed this weekend when my back decided it would prefer to wrench itself out of alignment. I lay the blame for this at the feet of one person: Gwen. Clearly, she's infected me with her back demon from last week.

I realize what the problem is, though. I'm fat devilishly handsome, and so my gut dashing good looks pulls on my back and causes vertebrae and ribs and clavicles to all misalign themselves. It's difficult being this overweight and unhealthy handsome.

To that end, I have a suddenly strong empathic appreciate of Gwen and her sad fate from last week where she was lying upon the dining room floor while we all stood around and made fun of her. Based on my issues, I can only assume that Gwen has gigantic knockers is radiantly beautiful, which has led to her discomforting ache. She most likely understands the trial it is to be this misshapen gloriously good-looking.

I feel your pain, my friend. I feel your pain.

Edit: Okay, I did something stupid. Probably when I was twirling myself around in my office chair, seeing if I could cause myself to puke. Anyway, I was sitting here feeling sorry for myself and I twisted my back funny or something...and now the other side hurts too. And then, to add insult to injury, I just farted and it stinks really badly and my back hurts too much so I can't get up and leave and escape it.