Mini lollies
The glorious mental image of our Director-General, stranded in Picton outside a mouldering garage, singing After The Goldrush to himself in a risible falsetto (“Flying mother nature’s silver seed to a new home…”), provides me with a brief distraction from which to post this picture of our radiant muse and to distribute a few new lollies.Stephen says he’s all lollied-out, but London NZBC reader Richard Cooper has sent in this old-fashioned tale (it made our TV news and papers, but you may still have missed it) about a copy of The Punch Library of Humour, a library book that was 61 years overdue. Laugh? I was about to offer to pay the $9000 fine, but it was waived by the Rotorua library manager.
In my lighthearted mood, I’ve also had cause to revisit McSweeney’s Lists to marvel at the sheer minimalism of the site and reprise Rejected Bond Girls, If Poets Named Breakfast Cereals and “Things I Thought About Telling My Husband I Was Thinking About When He Asked What I Was Thinking About While I Was Actually Thinking About Having Babies”.
Speaking as one who spends far too many working days tapping away at a computer but who has recently come over all retro and returned to pencil and paper, I enjoyed Stuart Jeffries at the Guardian bemoaning the death of handwriting.
The New Republic (registration required) reminds us that Johnny and Jane B. American still love their middle initial; featuring as it does an online debate between Richard A. Posner and Philip B. Heymann on the legal and ethical ramifications of Bush's wiretapping program; and legal scholar Cass R. Sunstein’s analysis of the recent Supreme Court hearings. And, on a completely unrelated note, Ms Hilton has realised that you can’t be doin’ wit no fat dog when you’se a skinny bitch.
Mark draws our attention to this New Yorker article about the social and economic consequences of twenty-five hundred hard-core homeless in New York City; and also to some apparent double-standards in Oprah’s dealings with literary lies and ancestral assertions.
That’s all, folks! (Watch out for those silver space ships, Rob — the loading has begun. Apparently.)
posted by Chris Bell at 10:04 PM
4 Comments:
Hey Chris
seen your patron saint on the cover of the new ish of vanity fair? She is so damn hot.... and as for keira whatsherface, well, she needs pies.
Pies, Peter, pies...? Do elaborate, please: are you talking steak and cheese, or is this some kind of recursive rhyming slang I haven't heard about?
I think he means she needs to eat something. Pies, fries... etc.
Ah. I guess she could always fatten up a Chihuahua (like Paris Hilton did with hers - see Sunday's 'Mini lollies') and then eat that...
My imaginary girfriend's got me on that Oprah Winfrey diet: apparently, you've got to eat something every three hours, or your body goes into "famine" mode and starts laying down fat reserves. It seems plausible to me.
Ten pies down, six to go...
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