And at this point I must OF COURSE reference the HP7p2. Because our professor is the fucking star. He’s finally revealed as the end-all be-all of the entire goddamn series. And I know the super fans have seen the Empire ad where Mr Rickman makes one of the very few references to playing a fictional wizard that he’s ever made over the course of the past 10 years. And it’s shattering, because of course now we all know what JKR told him, what she gave him as the one simple key to his character that NO ONE ELSE KNEW ABOUT. And this is why we love the Rickman. And fucking does, and unrequited love and FUCK YOU TWILIGHT.

So, yeah. There’s this other professor. And he’s from the motherland, and he’s older, and intelligent and #foxytome and shit is SO ON.

That is all.

So this is a challenge because I can’t post any pics nor give any actual kind of information, but Effbit FULLY SUPPORTS this cause. Mr. Effbit FULLY SUPPORTS this cause (and I’m hoping it’s not just because he talks funny like them). Young Effbit the Lanky and Peanut FULLY SUPPORT this cause even though neither of them really knows what they’re supporting, and one can barely support his own damn self (i.e., CHEAP DATE). Now, obviously they support the cause because a) it’s been a non-fucking MINUTE and b) i’m running out of British programming over which to obsess and said obsessions detract from any possible fucking minutes and I’d rather prefer my plan to cover unlimited minutes and OHMYGOD HE LIKES MY FB STATUS. See, this is what I’m relegated to. Fuck. This. Life. That. Is. Mine.

Make no mistake, there has been no real communication. I mean, there has to an extent. He knows I exist, so point to me. We have mutual friends (point me). I’ve been to his house (point me, but it was a group poker night thingy and I was drinking for the first time in a little bit and it was raining and at this point I’m hoping I did one of those sexy rain unleashings when the hot chick arrives at said fella’s house and he’s all BAM but I’m sure it was more like a lot of dripping on his kitchen floor and a light spray when I had to shake my hair dry) (i.e. NOT HOT). So…yeah. That should bring you up to date.

And then he showed up at work today, completely unannounced and on his own. A brief note about work. I used to do a thing in Texas. I’m now doing a somewhat similar thing back home, but it’s not my own thing and it’s only for the summer so it’s PERFECT. And Fella walks in (***effbit, I need a name because certain casual male pronouns will obviously not work), sits out back and does his thing, says hey as he goes back and forth (I’m not saying where we were but he may have returned with another beer) (just sayin’…I have a very specific skill set) (TWSS). So all I’m doing is texting Effbit and angling myself so I can still work but maybe occasionally catch a look at legs in shorts, and I’m sure at this point I’m creeping out all flavors of Effbit but whatever – I’m a fan of Peanut and yet I’m aware of certain biological facts regarding a most unholy union, so yeah payback’s a bitch. Then Effbit shows up with Lanky & Peanut in tow. Lanky & I have a very detailed conversation regarding tomorrow’s epic game of Star Wars Monopoly, and Peanut gets the prime view of Fella. Now, I was honestly invested in the Lanky convo so I will have to assume Peanut was making my case for me. Hmm…we shall see. Perhaps it shall all hinge on SW Monopoly. As it is now I should rest up for the battle because I’m finally on the tail end of a two week spell working two jobs. One hopes men are impressed by multi-dork-tasking.

Also, sidenote. I knew a guy in high school who looked like Paul Newman – fucking chiseled jaw, crisp short hair, ice eyes, casual, self-demeaning manner. And now is the time on Nomness when we define a few of those words. By “knew,” I mean we shared the same seat in consecutive art classes and I thought about carving notes to him in the desk. By “casual, self-demeaning manner,” I mean I don’t think he ever consciously acknowledged the fact that someone might’ve been thinking about him for an inordinate amount of time. Le sigh….goddamn he was pretty…

Second thing…I’m seriously mainlining Dylan Moran. Yes, it’s happening, the Dread Pirate Effbit has wished an Irishman on me and, lo, an Irishman has appeared to fill the void and give me hope that I may actually be attracted to a man born the same decade as myself. Shocking I know. It has happened in the past (IN REAL LIFE), but here’s hoping all future ones are actually available.

And for full disclosure, here’s Glen, because the world needs more dancing Glen.

However, I consider my complete ignorance of the inner workings of U2 to be the biggest compliment I can give them and their music. I could truly give two shits about them as people (and this is a compliment how?), but I have seen them in concert and cried those kinds of tears that squeak out of your surprised head while you sit there wondering if you’ve recently come to a sudden stop. One takes stock of the situation…am I injured? Am I sad? Intriguing, I should really be HOLYSHIT they’re playing City of Blinding Lights and now I’ve got goosebumps and need to go cry some more.

Aaand scene.

So I did a bit of research into U2 earlier today and learned that I did know a bit about them personally. I knew I liked that little beanie-headed bastid. How did I come to separate him from the out of focus guys behind bug-eyes?

Specifically, that little shrug at 3:36 after he gets the roses thrown at him. It’s funny what the nombrain will notice. I remember this song when it came out and I remember seeing the video, but until earlier today I really couldn’t place why I remembered it. Turns out, The Edge is a bit of cutie pie. Who knew? Presumably Mrs. Edge but certainly few others would delve beyond the idiocy of that name and who could blame them.

HOWEVER.

The man can play some damn guitar. And this is what strikes me as rather curious about U2 as a whole: they don’t seem an overly or overtly sexual band. They can rock the shit, they can certainly put out the babymaking tunes, but I’ve honestly never thought nekkid thoughts of any of them. Not even beanie. Not even NOW, when TRYING. This freaks me out a little because I will crush on anyone at the drop of a hat. Or beanie. Maybe that’s it, who knows. It’s weirding me out though, and it’s making me wonder if anyone else actually sees anyone in the band as the hottest thing since sliced mancake.

For instance, I’m seeing It Might Get Loud later this afternoon. Three guitar gods in a few different rooms, doing what comes naturally to them. I’m premagining some hot Page on White licks, some bold strokes from White back to Page, and all while The Edge watches on the sidelines, fiddling with his knobs. Jack White is teh sex. Jimmy Page is TEH SEX. The Edge is an awfully cute cutie pie who doesn’t seem to mind feet in his face. Curious. Maybe I’ll come out of the film with a better and more lustful appreciation for the man. I hope so; otherwise I’ll feel bad for just liking the music.

In the meantime (and HOLYSHIT I just typo’d ‘mantime’), I offer this selection of pictures of The Edge. Also, seriously….wtf’s with that name? Do people call him Edge for short? If this film answers anything it better goddamn well answer that.

I don’t even know what this next one is from, or why hot men who have been beaten look even hotter (even when it might not be obvious that they’re saying “you should’ve seen the other guy”), unless it’s to imagine the inevitable scene where he whips ten shades of shit back to the punter who dared think of escaping unscathed. Yeaahhh, that’s probably it.

I am a stupid fan of the movie Love Actually. I say this with no shame, because the movie is funny and hokey and Christmas-y and British and heartening and there’s just really no fucking way I’d be able to not be a fan. If I’m ever feeling bad I can watch this movie and it will actually make me feel better. This is absurd and the fact of it makes me cringe in all my other 2000 parts, but it is a fact. I like to think that FutureMan will find this one of my more endearing qualities, and he’ll laugh quietly as I’m quivering with barely contained tearful joy at the little boy running all over the damn airport.

And here’s where I bring it all back around to the man in question (because I KNOW I’ve lost you now). Obviously he’s in his movie (and how hard it must’ve been for Emma Thompson to act brotherly toward one she would rather be jumping. I love Emma Thompson; she really is *that* good an actor). He’s beautiful, but I think my favorite parts of his character are the ones involving him and his stepson and usually the dads don’t do it for me. Men at a dad age or beyond, fuck yes. But dads themselves? Not really. They aren’t specifically unattractive, but they’re not specifically attractive either, when in dad mode. But I want to jump Liam Neeson when he calls his stepson a wee motherless mongrel, and I want to jump him when he recounts to the boy how he and Claudia Schiffer would have to have sex in every room of the house including his. I’m sure there’s something not entirely healthy in these admissions, but fuck it. The film is not searching for any deep dark human secrets and neither am I. I’m just enjoying the Christmas candy, and my GOD there’s a lot of it there. [Effbit, we HAVE to do an entire post just on LA. It. Must. Happen]

So, to summarize (oh god, I almost spelled this with two S’s) (this makes me inordinently happy).

The man looks good with his clothes on.

The man looks good with his clothes off.

The man just looks fucking GOOD.

And Emma Thompson knows it, and respects it. She’s part of our club (though of course if she ever were, we would absolutely have jackets made up celebrating the fact) (Emma, kidding, we’d be totally chill, I swear).

A lot of my noms are of the black & white variety and you just can’t deny what some men look like sans color information. Especially men with silly blue twinkly eyes and crazy good acting chops. Can you imagine a world where Lawrence of Arabia is a leading man’s first film role?

And in fitting nomness fashion, he has spent his entire professional life playing the role of rapscallion and raconteur. A famous drunk (one of the few legends still living), he has turned down a knighthood, raised a ruckus when bestowed with an honorary Oscar a few years back (he should’ve won for Lawrence, although if you’re gonna lose then placing second to Peck in Mockingbird is fair enough), and can still bring the acting pain (witness Venus). And of course, there’s the whole smoking hot thing.

So, in honor of Effbit’s trip (where she better not be having too much fun), I will be posting under a theme. She was complaining that I never seemed to fancy her countrymen so for the next two weeks I plan to offer a selection of hawt Irish. Not sure if I’ll run out early or not (KIDDING) (I think?), but consider this the gauntlet having been thrown and picked up again because you really shouldn’t leave that sort of thing just sitting around because that’s how wars get started and Great Britain will get the blame, I just know it.