In Memory of Miss Maura Barnacle

This eulogy is dedicated the Fireheaded Celt who was mortally maimed in a quest through the Highlands to find a boy with hands. Though, I must confess, my writing style is much different from the Celt's. I, unlike the celt, do not need to provide a thesis paragraph explaining the purpose of what I'm writing.

Let me clarify. Even the Celt does not do this. The Celt, in a drunken haze must have placed a series of post-it notes around her computer trying to formulate what to say. Then, she probably had some tea with Guinness followed by at least five hours of facebooking. After the facebooking, she contemplated the idea of having a thesis for her blog, and then was distracted by several episodes of the Gilmore Girls. Having fawned over Dean for at least two hours, and equating yours truly to Paris, the Fireheaded celt went out for a drunken walk. After nearly stealing two dogs, and three cute children, she returned to her room to drink 4 more cups of her Guinness Tea.

Her bladder full. The Fireheaded Celt then proceeded to the toilet, and in the process of peeing out her several cups of Guinness Tea, she formulated her thesis paragraph. I might reiterate. Thesis paragraph. What one must realize bout the Celt is that she loves her sentences as much as she loves her Guinness. The next best thing to a never- ending draft of Guinness would be a never-ending sentence with a form of punctuation that hybridized a semicolon and a hyphen.

Having structured her thoughts into a jumbled thesis paragraph that burdens the soul like an intellectual anvil, the Celt begins the write. We're lucky that the Celt now has completed this process for the blog as a whole. If not, the sheer time she spends peeing cause the worlds water levels to rise.

However, that is enough on the Celt's personal character. I now must defend myself against accusations of naval-gazing.

First of all, I have a very nice naval. It is neither an innie nor an outie, it is about half way in between, and it is quite fascinating to my about how such a naval exists that falls outside of the general categories of innie and outie.

Secondly, I must proudly state that I am proud to be a naval-gazer. I relish in the fact that I am part of the ranks of Descartes, Confucious, Plato, Heidegger, and all those other naval-gazing folk. While of course, I, as the Other can attest to, am only a demi-god among the dieties that I listed, I am still proud to stand humbly in their naval-gazing ranks.

I must further my point about the Other needing to find herself and state that the Celt must go off and find herself a well. While I, Narcissus, may occasionally believe I am Foucault, I recommend that the Celt resolve her dual identity. We all know what happened to St. Augustine. Unless of course, the Celt trying to make literary references to her hidden dark desires for wild sex, catholic guilt, and illegitimate children.