The octopus or the espresso? I vote espresso. It's almost obscene!

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And because you need to know

Molecular machines are coming. Let's hope they make pens out of them too.


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One Katrina post

I've been trying to stay clear of the whole Katrina thing, mostly because my opinions on the matter won't be popular (poor countries offering a significant fraction of their GDP in aid for a country that threatens their sovereignty and offered as measly $15M to Tsunami victims? It's obscene!), but this blog post, brought to my attention by Lady Ninja, seems to sum all those feelings up in a way likely more palatable than my frothing about responsibility and socioeconomics.


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Wow that blog post is incredibly naive -- George Bush didn't become President because he actually cares about people... jeez.

Never thought I'd stand up for Bush, but DUDE, they upped the ante after the first $15M was given...

Some possibly good news

The more sexist you are, the shorter your life will be. Somehow that feels like it should be good news, but practically, sadly, I don't think it makes a difference.


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Hate Mondays?

Well, at least this wasn't you. ... ... Um, was it?


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Looking for love in all the wrong pancakes

You know, every now and then my battered inner Protestant-raised-in-a- baptist-church rears its malformed, hymn-humming head and says, Yo, Geordie-boy, the end is near. There's the whole hurrivolcanoquakenami thing of the last year, and this proselytising, self-replicating chimp at the button, and the first horseman has a three-and-a-half inch nipple hair... you know, the usual concerns. But then I realize I'm just screwed up like the other Christians: we all see what we want see. To coin a phrase I hope to spread worldwide, We all have our popecakes, for hopesakes. Can't we all just get along?


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Growing your brain like a weed!

With good old-fashioned pot. Sweeeeeeeet. By this logic, I should have had a head the size of an airplane tire by the time I was 30. (What do you suppose the mice giggle about? "So then, Marvin says, 'Squeeeeak, squeeeak!', and I was all, like, 'Squeeek yourself!'... hee hee hee... Oh man, I nearly fell over the water spout, I was laughing so hard!")


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What's it gots in its pockets, precious?

Bush doesn't carry anything of consequence in his pockets. Kind of like his head. He's not only got people to think and speak for him (through his little ear phone), but some to carry his wallet and cell and keys. This is a good thing, because we wouldn't want a repeat of the famous locking his cellphone in his wallet incident of 2000.


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Dude, I am so voting for you as he-man of the year

A guy kills with his bare hands a five point buck the broke into his home. I'm pretty sure he has to be a Canadian.


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I'm pretty sure he has to be a relative...

Third dimension an illusion

Which means authors of what reviewers refer to as two-dimensional prose haven't wasted any effort struggling for something that doesn't exist.


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When irony knows no earthly bonds

Cap'n! I cannae give ye any moor power! That's all she'll give me! And our script writers aren't as good at techobabble as they'll be in 30 years, so I cannae even come up with somethin about static warp shells and resonance frequency inversion!


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I suffer from this all the time

But it's not the works of GREAT art that make me homicidal... (Seriously, though, I totally buy this. The first time I saw the statue of David, I nearly fainted. No lie. I walked into the Academia through this innocuous little door in a blank wall, went through some turnstiles and then walked down a corridor until I had to turn right. On turning right you look down a hallway lined with busts and statues and at the end, framed in the archway leading into the main chamber is one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen. And it's fucking huge! People told me in advance, "Oh, when you see David, you'll be surprised how big it is." But nothing can prepare you for 50 feet of naked male beauty. I literally had heart palpitations and as I came closer, I thought I was going to pass out. I went from blasé to feverish in a split second. The only other time something like that happened was with The Last Supper in Milan.)


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Here, boy! Thataboy! BANG!

Old Mother Hubbard went to her cupboard to fetch her poor dog a bone...
But when she got there, the cupboard was bare, so she fed him a hand grenade instead to speed his passing.


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