michael mantell

Beware the Ides of March

In this post from @saracha33, @lululawrence, and @jackstylinson, they explain the connection between Poland, referencing the Polish Money RBB carried, and “Nut Tree”, the label emblazoned on a phone RBB carried, as well as it’s correlation to the Vernal Equinox (”First day of spring, see ya later!”). This came from conversation generated by a submission to @lawyerlarrie.

This got us all screaming about the Ides of March. As most people know, the Ides of March are famous for commemorating the date of the assassination of Julius Caesar. It was a political coup which sprung Rome into a civil war that would give sole power of Rome to Caesar’s heir, Augustus. There are plenty of parallels that can be drawn between Caesar and Cowell, even with just basic knowledge of both situations.

It’s important to note that on the Gregorian Calendar, (the calendar which we currently use), the Vernal Equinox falls around the 21st of March every year. 

The Ides of March typically began in or around the 15th of March in the Roman Empire. (Romans didn’t count days consecutively like we did, “Ides” is actually a way to describe the middle of the month). Their culmination (during the Imperial Period, anyway) was the Vernal Equinox according to the Julian Calendar, not the Gregorian Calendar.

For reference:

In the later Imperial period, the Ides began a “holy week” of festivals for Cybele and Attis. The Ides was the day of Canna intrat(“The Reed enters”), when Attis was born and exposed as an infant among the reeds of a Phrygian river. He was discovered—depending on the version of the myth—by either shepherds or the goddess Cybele, who was also known as the Magna Mater, “Great Mother”. A week later, on 22 March, the day of Arbor intrat (“The Tree enters”) commemorated the death of Attis under a pine tree. A college of priests called “tree bearers” (dendrophoroi) cut down a tree, suspended from it an image of Attis, and carried it to the temple of the Magna Mater with lamentations. The day was formalized as part of the official Roman calendar under ClaudiusA three-day period of mourning followed, culminating with the rebirth of Attis on 25 March, the date of the vernal equinox on the Julian calendar.

It’s also worth noting that “The Ides of March” was the name of a 2011 political drama film starring George Clooney, Ryan Gosling, Paul Giamatti, Phillip Seymour Hoffman, and Evan Rachel Wood. 

As Ohio’s Democratic primary nears, charming Gov. Mike Morris (George Clooney) seems a shoo-in for the nomination over his opponent, Sen. Pullman (Michael Mantell). Morris’ idealistic press secretary, Stephen Meyers (Ryan Gosling), believes in his candidate’s integrity and the democratic process. But Meyers’ meeting with Pullman’s campaign manager (Paul Giamatti) and a dalliance with a young intern (Evan Rachel Wood) set in motion events that threaten Morris’ election chances. (Thanks to @bearmustard for that summary!)

The events that are set in motion? *spoiler warning*

Morris gets his intern, Molly (Evan Rachel Wood) pregnant. It’s a pregnancy scandal, and it threatens to topple his entire political career.

So the question is… how much do H and L know about Roman history?

I'll Be Home for Christmas - Michael Clifford Imagine

Okay so I decided to write a little something for Christmas and I hope everybody likes it. It’s pretty much just some Christmassy Michael fluff
-Anna xx

You hummed along to the Christmas music playing from your phone as you hung the last of the three stockings that went above your fireplace. You weren’t going to lose your Christmas spirit, even if you would be spending the holidays alone with your two cats this year. Your boyfriend, Michael, did his best to get home, but when you’re a huge star touring around the world, you don’t always get off for holidays, and even when you did, you could be on the opposite side of the world of your loved ones.

As you stepped back to admire your own handy work, the garland, lights, and stockings that now adorned the mantel, the Michael Bublé cover of “It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas” faded out momentarily to let the chime come through that told you you had a text. You paused the music and unlocked your phone to read the message:

Big Dork 😻💩🍆: I’m so sorry I can’t be there for Christmas babe. I’ll make it up to you when I get back though 😜

You rolled your eyes when you finished reading the message, but couldn’t help but smile as you typed your reply. “You better. We’ve already bumped you off the mantel.” You attached a picture of the three stockings, reading your name one one and “Pizza” and “Wifi” on the others (the stupid names Michael someone convinced you to give the cats). As much as you joked about it, it was still pretty upsetting that tomorrow would be Christmas Eve, and you weren’t going to be able to see him.

Big Dork 😻💩🍆: shit that’s no fair. I should still get presents from Santa 😭😭😭

You: guess you’ll just have to wait until next year

Big Dork 😻💩🍆: ugh I hate u

You: love you too 😒

You: hey I think I’m gonna head to the shower I’ll talk to you in a few, loser

Big Dork 😻💩🍆: send me a pic

You: you are the straightest, whitest straight white boy ever.

You: and maybe if you’re lucky 😏

You set off up the stairs to the bathroom and began running the water, giving it time to adjust to the right temperature as you undressed yourself. When you finally rid yourself of all your clothes, you stepped into the shower, singing the Christmas song that had been stuck in your head since it stopped playing. As you washed your hair you sang aloud to “It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas”, humming instrumental parts. You lathered soap onto your body and shampoo into your hair until you felt you were sufficiently clean, then stepped out, towel drying your hair and wrapping another town around your body as you continued to sing. You walked, towel tucked under your arms, down the hallway to your bedroom and threw on underwear and one of the many t-shirts Michael left you. It was as soft as his skin, almost the same shade as his hair (currently at least), and smelled like him, which made you miss him more, but also helped comfort you through it. If you couldn’t have a real hug from him, this was the next best thing.

You settled in to the soft tan couch, the cushions effortlessly conforming to the shape of your body on them, and pulled the knit throw you kept on the back of the couch over your bare legs. You were milliseconds away from starting your favorite Christmas movie when you were interrupted by your phone again, the Yellowcard ringtone notifying you that it was Michael.

“Hey, babe,” you answered as you picked up the phone, “I thought you had rehearsal?”

“So did I, apparently not.”

“Oh, okay, what’s up?”

“Just hanging out with the guys.”

“They’re scarily quiet for once,” you giggled.

“Yeah. I think they all died. Hey, I noticed something weird in that picture you sent me.”

Your brow crinkled at what he said, “What?”

“There was something weird on the mantel, look at it.”

You pulled the blanket off of your lap and stood to look up at the mantel. “Nuh uh,” you said into the phone, seeing that the stockings had all shifted to the right and there was a new one on the far left that you hadn’t seen since last Christmas reading, ‘Mikey’ along with a heart.

“What?” He chimed in through the speaker, a smile on his voice.

“Did you do that?”

“Mmhm,” he hummed.

You pulled the phone away from your ear and yelled, “Michael Gordon Clifford, if you’re in this house and you don’t get your ass in here right now!”

“You’ll what?” He grinned, poking his head around the doorway to the living room. It took you a full three seconds before you realized what had happened, but only a fraction of one to run over and jump into his arms. You wrapped your arms up around his neck, pushing onto the tips of your toes to bury your face in his shoulder as he tightened his arms around you.

“You didn’t really think I would miss Christmas did you?” You could hear his smile in his voice before he kissed the top of your head.

“I love you, you big dork,” you said into his shoulder, your words muffled by his clothes.

“I love you too, princess”


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