Sunday, 3 May 2015

Sunday Nerdy Sunday - May As Well Go On As I Mean To Start

Sunday, Nerdy Sunday sees steven harris rambling away about Sundays. WARNING - May not make any sense...

Sunday. Oh what a glorious day. God is in his heaven and all is...wait a moment, I'm agnostic.

I'll start again.

Sunday. Oh what a glorious day. God may or may not be in his or her heaven and all is...wait a minute, now it's all getting a bit claggy with uncertainty principles.

I'll start again.

Sunday. It's a day. I know, I looked it up in the bumper book of days of the week. It's either the seventh day or the first depending on which side of the bed you're standing. Or it's all of them if you live in a prism (that can happen, Superman II, anyone?). But that's not important. Well slightly but not hugely. Just a bit.

The perfect nerdy Sunday, that was why I wandered in to this interweb cafe in my underpants. I feel the need, the need for nerd. And to tell you about my idea of a perfect nerdy Sunday. Which I probably already made clear a couple of sentences ago. If I didn't well, yup, that's why we're here folks.

The waking up bit should involve no alarm clocks. There should be a duvet with Tom Baker and Leela depicted on it. Or maybe not Leela as I might never leave the bed and my wrists would ache for the rest of the week. Because turning down the sheets whilst trying not to crumple Leela's face, that's why you disgustingly minded filth wizards.

The emerging from bed bit would involve caffeines in my 'You Don't Have To Live Here To Be Mad, But It Helps' mug. And a breakfast cereal of some description in a bowl which has scenes from the original Star Trek series around the outside. Ooh and Uhura's delightful face at the bottom so I can slowly reveal her firm thighs and...


Binge watching would then occur. Firefly perhaps. No wait, the first series of Heroes before they ran out of ideas and became as pointless as Lost. Or as lost as Pointless, eh Xander? Oh, Xander (but possibly spelt differently): maybe it's a Buffy Sunday. I love Buffy Binge watch Sundays. And ice cream sundaes but they're allowed for non-nerds so I'd rather not talk about them. Apart from just then.

I'm not really in an internexus cafe by the way. I lied to appear street and hunky.
Once I'd gorged on Buffy/Firefly/70s Spider-Man cartoons/whatever, it would be time to do some light reading. Such as Thomas Piketty's 'Capital'. Or Michel Foucault on Ethics/Power/Sexuality. Or a bunch of Doctor Who magazines. Or 'The History Of Geeky People Who Smell Of Peppermint' volumes one to ninety-three.

Hunger would happen again at this point. I'd eat something. I'm not an idiot and I resent the accusation that just because I own twenty-two thermos flasks I might forget to feed myself because I got stuck into reading "Douglas Adams Was A Betazoid From Fantasy Island And Had Teats Like Barbarella" for hours on end.

Nosh, nosh, munch, munch.

A fillum methinks. Or two. Both Total Recalls so I can underline in pencil every reference to the first from the second version in my notebook of underlining things in pencil when it comes to watching remakes of classic movies.

And then bed. Mmmm Leela is right by the pillow. Turn away Tom Baker, I wouldn't want you to blush so hard you regenerate again, would I?

Oh and midnight snacks would involve Star Wars Pez dispensers. Go away now, I'm busy hiding Leela's knife.

steven harris is adverse to putting his name in capitals because names aren't that important. Also, lower case is sexy. steven writes all sorts of stuff including fiction, poetry, songs, opinion pieces and shopping lists. He does not write on lavatory doors any more. his blog has writing in it and can be located at He lives in Devon with an imaginary cat called Kafka.

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