September 22nd, 2004



"The political rants on my flist are really annoying me. Annoying the living hell out of me.

Annoying so much I am now going to exact revenge.

Ahem. I shall now have a political rant.


- ewacat
  • Current Music
    tori amos - a case of you
amy laughs

(no subject)

Bede Preached to a Heap of Stones (AD 672-735). On one occasion, we are told, the Venerable Bede preached to a heap of stones, thinking himself in a church; and the stones were so affected by his eloquence, that they exclaimed, "Amen, Venerable Bede!"

And I immediately began wondering who observed this, in order to report it. I mean, it obviously wasn't the Venerable Bede himself, for someone who can't tell the difference between a heap of stones and the inside of a church isn't going to be a particularly reliable person for reporting back, and anyway in this case "Venerable" is not simply an honorific but also a euphemism for either "barking mad" or "as comically blind as Mr McGoo"... (And what, I suddenly wonder, do those dates mean? If they were the Bede's dates, then he lived to the age of 63, which isn't really particularly venerable, not even for then. On the other hand, if it's how long he preached to the heap of stones for, I'm not surprised they gave him an "amen" at the end. They probably also had chorus of "For he's a jolly good fellow" followed by a whip-round in order to send him somewhere there weren't any stones.) (Right. I just googled, and those were his dates. Ignore that last parenthetical statement.)

Now, I think it's reasonable to assume that if the Venerable Bede mistakenly thought that he was in church, surely the hearty "Amen" from the stones would merely confirm his belief that he was in church, and then he'd wend his venerable way home having completely missed the fact that a miracle had just happened. Which means that either there had to be someone standing beside him, clearing his or her throat from time to time and trying to point out that they weren't actually in church after all, or possibly a particularly chatty rock mentioned it later, from whom the story came down to us...

--officialgaiman, our honorary LJer
agent may is unimpressed

On getting a foreign haircut

I got my bopchop at a barber's just a few minutes down the road from my apartment. The barber, Watanabe-san, is a gray-haired elderly man who seems to be made up entirely of taut skin and old rope. After overcoming our initial language barrier (W-S: "Arrgh! Gaijin!" Me: "I have not come to kill you, venerable barber. Could you please cut my hair?"), he set about the task.

--mr_cornelius, from Japan
Mighty Boosh: B! JULIAN SAID B!

Here lies The summary of (nearly) every Snarry scenario ever written!

By the incomparable sociofemme:

Harry: God, I hate Potions class. Snape is so awful. But hot.
Snape: Come here, little boy.
Harry: What?
Snape: You heard me.

Harry: God, I love Potions class. Snape is so hot.
Snape: What?
Harry: Yeah baby. You heard me.

Dumbledore: Harry, spend more time in the dungeons for extra lessons. Snape, teach Harry Occlumency.
Harry: Why?
Dumbledore: I can't be arsed to come up with a plausible reason. Just do it, kay?
Harry: Fine!
Snape: Fine!
Harry: *kills Voldemort*

Continued here. Run, don't walk.
  • Current Music
    Mad Tom of Bedlam - Jolie Holland
  • hurm

Mmmm...Death Salsa.

"Nathan's Jolly Rodger Death Salsa from Beyond the Moon

Today, we made salsa with tomatoes from our garden. I commandeered a sub-batch of it and... modified it. There is now a container in my fridge bearing a skull and crossbones device, along with the label, "DEATH SALSA".

I would describe the taste of it as something along the lines of orally giving birth to a screaming alien child made primarily of hydrochloric acid, with just a hint of lemon."


Ah, public transit.

summerless_year laments about the Santiago (Chile) bus system:

But the problem is the flagging down of the buses. Because they go so far, by the time they get downtown, they´re packed. Not in your comfortable North American, excuse me, you're in my personal space packed, but literally jammed with people. So the bus drivers don't stop for additional passengers. Also, the bus drivers make money for how many passengers they have. So they'd like to squeeze you on the bus, if possible. But if you're a lone person, during rush hour(s), there's not a chance that the driver will stop (or slow down) to let you get on, because then another bus of the same number might scoop his route. So you have to look for a pack of people to stand with, and then (if there's room), the driver will stop, take your money, give you a ticket, allow you to wedge yourself in and start careening down the city streets at about 40 mph. But at least you're on the bus. Power in numbers.
hope is all we have

(no subject)

kadrin on an 'educational' game he played as a child:

...And at one point you have to tell a hungry giant to eat you in order to progress. You have to tell it to eat you. You have to say "Hey, giant, eat me!" Or rather, when the giant says "Shall I eat you?" you have to say "Yes".

This educational game is telling me that to get along in life I have to be
eaten by giants.

If we examine it from point of metaphor, it's saying that the only way to progress is to surrender your individuality to faceless corporations. That's bad. If we examine it from point of literality, it's saying the only way to progress is to have a hungry giant tear you limb from limb and devour your warm flesh. That's also bad. Just because the giant doesn't actually eat you in no way dampens the game's stupidity on this point.
  • Current Mood
    amused amused

Kerry Campaign: Hear Ye!

From missandrony:

I have decided EXACTLY what the Kerry campaign needs to reenergize his campaign in these final, crucial weeks leading up to the election. He must fire ALL of his campaign advisors and instead hire a pack of 13-year-old girls, preferably from the "in" crowd. Because really, who slings mud better than middle school girls? Within a week, everyone in the country would be talking about how OMG Bush made out with, like, 8 members of his cabinet, and that Cheney's manboobs are totally, like, stuffed, because the press would lick it all off a spoon and beg for more.

And if the occasional lapse into teeniespeak occurs, well, he'll just look like he's reaching out to the younger future vote.
  • Current Mood
    amused amused
K: Smile, K: Personal, K: My Friends Rock, Smile!, K: Sophie

(no subject)

I can't help but notice that some of the side streets of Bloomingthon get really dark after midnight. Doesn't help to be kind of unsober and talking out loud to yourself about drinking the blood of angels (cause the blood of men runs dry), bloody mary, the dream beneath New York, buzzsaw cocks and filleting machines. Gets kind of spooky, it does.

However, I imagine it's also pretty spooky have to be a tiny co-ed having to pass a bulky-unwashed type talking aloud about such things on the sidewalk. Took off at quite a pace, she did.

-- moonandserpent

Finished reading. The Ashes of Eden. And. The Return. And. Spectre. By William. Shatner.

They are. Full of. Short. Disjointed sentences. Kind of like. This. Every scene break. Ends. With someone. About to die. But never actually. Doing so.

From what I know. Of Shatner's speech style. This is. Par for the course.

For some reason. I find this.


-- dkellis

new meez, default

Sending the wrong message

How can anyone take seriously a person who would buy a vehicle called a "Hummer"? The first thing--and pretty much the only thing--that comes to my mind is "Ah, you have to pay for it" or "Yeah, that's the only way you'll ever get one."

cakmpls, in a comment thread in misia's journal

Too right!
  • Current Mood
    amused amused
SF&amp;Fantasy Geek -- art by Lisa Andresen

(no subject)

raincrystal shares with us an insight prompted by the Anne Rice wank of late:

On a lighter note, our copy of The Vampire Lestat keeps turning up next to the cookbooks. Some people organize their bookshelves alphabetically, some by genre... we seem to organize ours by irony.