tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13328836833832800962023-11-15T09:10:46.849-07:00aBettaBlogMira MoneyPenny, turning 30, finds that her life has become a series of unfinished tasks. So she turns to a friend for advice. Not really knowing the answer but wanting to lift her spirits, he buys her a little red Betta fish she names "Rojo". Mira quickly becomes devoted to her new pet and while struggling to keep her fish alive she discovers the art of "BettaLiving" and something far more sinister...Unknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger145125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1332883683383280096.post-57104448568544794352019-11-04T23:52:00.003-07:002019-11-04T23:52:35.820-07:00Me Before You The red of a telephone box flashed into sight along a single lane just on the outskirts of Lulworth Castle, fringed with a dusting of 1700 century cob thatched cottages. A telephone box loaded with books? Never. Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1332883683383280096.post-89448306829737642962019-10-06T23:02:00.000-07:002019-10-06T23:02:37.318-07:00How Boris Stopped StoptoberBeen really interested and enthused by our new PM... his annoying October 31st extension news didn't feel as gloomy as I thought it might. A caller to LBC on Nigel's show I heard earlier today said and I think he's right, militarily it could be a method of surprise and attack. Basic Rugby. And we know how great Boris is at rugby, even playing a friendly football match against the Met Police years ago, lol! So what we're hearing on the news and various leaks to the press etc. with his bellicose rhetoric towards the EU, could be all part of the show. The beguiling contents of whatever is lurking up Dominic Cummings sleeve trumps all other Global political soap operas so far! Another caller of far lesser intellect had the idea that Boris is a closet remainer, which I thought absurd enough to let my eggs go cold and call in with a rebuttal. I couldn't get through so I commented on the LBC Facebook live feed. Not the first time I've had a few words with Nigel.... about a year ago I welcomed him to Christchurch on his Leave campaign tour...!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1332883683383280096.post-49177444086349661592014-07-16T17:28:00.001-07:002014-07-16T17:28:29.892-07:00<object width="560" height="315"><param name="movie" value="//www.youtube.com/v/2vjPBrBU-TM?hl=en_US&version=3"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="//www.youtube.com/v/2vjPBrBU-TM?hl=en_US&version=3" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="560" height="315" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true"></embed></object>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1332883683383280096.post-5129965422785334132011-12-19T21:09:00.003-07:002011-12-19T21:51:32.908-07:00R.I.P Christopher HitchensIn the world of the polemics, of which I dipped my toes into, I found Hitchens the most insightful and eloquent of all. He was unafraid and brewed a storm in his intellectual honest appraisal of the establishment and destablishment. His most devastating insults were "toad" and "horrible little man". If it weren't for his volunteering to be water-boarded just to prove a point, I'd call him an arm chair warrior, but he wasn't and Andrew Sullivan, Ian Mcewan, et al can speak for me in the way of his eulogy. Fundamentally I massively disagree with him, for instance he wrote a best selling book called "God is Not Great" (an attack on religion) and gave a lecture of "why women aren't funny". You see the dissonance. Christopher Hitchens will be sorely missed.
I just read this essay of his a few weeks ago
<a href="http://www.vanityfair.com/culture/2012/01/hitchens-201201">http://www.vanityfair.com/culture/2012/01/hitchens-201201 </a>
<iframe width="560" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/nJ_L96kBLtw?rel=0" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1332883683383280096.post-19320849068261449092011-12-02T21:53:00.000-07:002011-12-02T21:53:10.968-07:00Video GamesNot my lyrics but... <br />
<br />
<br />
Swingin in the back yard<br />Pull up in your fast car<br />Whistlin my name<br /><br />Open up a beer and<br />Say get over here<br />And play a video game<br /><br />I'm in his favorite sun dress<br />Watchin me get undressed<br />Take my body down town<br /><br />I say 'You da bestest'<br />Lean in for a big kiss<br />Put his favorite perfume on<br />Go play a video game<br /><br />It's you, it's you, it's all for you<br />Everything I do<br />Tell you all the time<br />Heaven is a place on earth with you<br />Tell me all the things you wanna do<br />I heard that you like the bad girls<br />Honey, is that true?<br />It's better than I ever even knew<br />They say that the world was built for two<br />Only worth living<br />If somebody is loving you<br />Baby now you do<br /><br />Singing in the old bar<br />Swinging with the old stars<br />Living for the fame<br />Kissing in the blue dark<br />Playing pool and wild darts<br />Video games<br /><br />He holds me in his big arms<br />He's drunk and I am seein' stars<br />This is all I think of<br />[ From: http://www.elyrics.net/read/l/lana-del-ray-lyrics/video-games-lyrics.html ]<br />Watchin all our friends fall<br />Leanin out of old cars<br />This is my idea of fun<br />Playing video games<br /><br />It's you, it's you, it's all for you<br />Everything I do<br />Tell you all the time<br />Heaven is a place on earth with you<br />Tell me all the things you wanna do<br />I heard that you like the bad girls<br />Honey, is that true?<br />It's better than I ever even knew<br />They say that the world was built for two<br />Only worth living<br />If somebody is loving you<br />Baby now you do<br /><br />(Now you do)<br /><br />It's you, it's you, it's all for you<br />Everything I do<br />Tell you all the time<br />Heaven is a place on earth wit' you<br />Tell me all the things you wanna do do<br />I heard that you like the bad girls<br />Honey, is that true?<br />It's better than I ever even knew<br />They say that the world was built for two<br />Only worth living<br />If somebody is loving you<br />Maybe now you do<br /><br />Maybe now you do<br />
<br />
<br />
<iframe width="420" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/IOP2Yd_jpYQ" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1332883683383280096.post-62294199447872168602011-10-09T13:24:00.000-07:002011-10-09T05:25:27.766-07:00Love and other inconveniences.The frivolous practice of being 'in love' pales in comparison to the art of knowing <i>how</i> to love. Elizabeth Barret Browning worked it all out in her sublime poem:<br />
<br />
<pre style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of being and ideal grace.
I love thee to the level of every day's
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for right.
I love thee purely, as they turn from praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints. I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life; and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.</span></pre>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1332883683383280096.post-20028814544459337132011-07-20T17:08:00.000-07:002011-07-20T17:08:49.564-07:00Handel - SarabandeDad, there's a sequel...
<iframe width="425" height="349" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/JSAd3NpDi6Q" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1332883683383280096.post-47812011631501965842011-07-07T22:17:00.007-07:002011-07-08T00:41:12.196-07:00Impediments and Other ScandalsBeethoven wasn't totally deaf, he had tinnitus.<br />
<br />
Last year after a Halloween partyinggggggrrr--rring---the usual shrill that one experiences the morning after has not ceased ringing in my poor ears. Why I have permanent ear damage will always remain a mystery to me for I was the one wearing professional earplugs the entire night. <br />
<br />
So eight months along I have tinnitus, and so what now? I have to listen to the radio, or a hair-dryer, or a lawn mower. Silence is over for me. R.I.P silence. Instead, I hear a high pitched electrical humming in between my ears/in my head. As uncomfortable and distracting as this is, this shrill <i>has </i>to be my friend. Otherwise I'll go insane and end up in a darker place than Saint Anne's Hospital.<br />
<br />
So to conquer tinnitus I have to invite this nemesis into my life, like an affirmation of Self; without it I'm either dead or asleep... or I'm listening to BBC Radio 4...<br />
<br />
I bolted up in bed last night after Classic FM guy introduced his favourite film classics. Thinking it was a modern day John Williams with his Dances with Wolves soundtrack etc. I listened to this 'new' composer and felt the tingles chasing themselves up and down my spine. I've been taught how to hear classical music and I listened intently. Blown away, I thought out loud; "There is a genius living among us" and I resolved to find out who this new and up and coming talent was... my heart palpitating and all my limbs in rhythm... the Classic FM guy paused after the piece, as if he and I had both been impregnated by some unexplainable force neither of us could explain, he announced... "In the movie "The King's Speech" they used <b>Beethoven</b> so well."<br />
<br />
Ha! I can't believe I missed Ludvig's 7th. I've been too wrapped up in the 9th.<br />
<br />
I've heard all of Beethoven's before, even the sub-brilliant, but this movie's soundtrack has replaced all meaning to me. The Classic FM guy was correct. They used Beethoven perfectly to set the cadence, regalia, and solemnity that this speech of King George's that was so fundamental and crucial that ignited a patriotism that only the British can be proud of.<br />
<br />
I saw a real D Day landing craft cruising into Poole Harbour last week. I looked at my father as he watched it pass by and he did so in awe, interest, and reverence. There's so much about War II I don't know about. But for now, stop and hear this... <br />
<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="349" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/-JdC8aoHOO0" width="425"></iframe>
<br />
<br />
God Save The Queen!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1332883683383280096.post-34077897081021528872011-03-07T00:06:00.014-07:002014-08-18T13:52:54.537-07:00Facebook is the novel we are all writingWhen MTV spanked popular culture with it's Real World series in 1992 I realized that reality TV (RTV) was not just a fad, like fondue or pleather, but a new genre that was here to stay. Riding on it's coat-tails followed a multi-million dollar pursuit to interview and document the lives of the massively mediocre and dull. While cat-walks spun orange into the new pink, RTV tailored the boring into the latest thrill.<br />
<br />
Basically, the RTV phenomenon divides society into two groups; those who watch it religiously, and those who watch it in secret. I don't have a television so I can't sling too much mud because I subscribe to the great and spacious building site of <u><b>Facebook</b></u>. <br />
<br />
Personally, speed-limits and taxes have felt more comfortable than FB at times. But you can't fault the genius of it. Conceived in a womb of the world's greatest of universities and fertilized by the deepest of pockets, Harvard student Mark Zuckerberg wrote the algorithm (in answer to the myspace problem) and provided a forum for students to express themselves succinctly, outside of the classroom, to connect, collect, and organize the individual expressions of college life; from campus to campus, throughout academia, and beyond. A buzz so contagious that by 1994, in less than a year, a new social network secured it's face within the books of history.<br />
<br />
<iframe class="youtube-player" frameborder="0" height="300" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/lB95KLmpLR4?hd=1" title="YouTube video player" type="text/html" width="480"></iframe> <br />
It's fairly straightforward to deactivate Facebook. So feeling bold I took the plunge and suspended my account for a while. My exit was so badly received that a visit to each of my friend's houses in the middle of the night and throwing rocks at their windows and spray painting farewell's all over their cars seemed a more civilized departure than the havoc I wreaked from a simple click of a button. So to keep the peace I returned to Facebook and also to a wall splattered with the annoyances and cries from a posse abandoned.<br />
<br />
Social networks are fueled by billions of tweets and narcissistic updates driven only by the need for people to broadcast their own uniqueness. Pull the plug on that and the chaos which started in Egypt is only the beginning.<br />
<br />
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1332883683383280096.post-10928890896358813752011-03-02T23:47:00.000-07:002011-03-02T23:47:02.421-07:00"An early bird may get the worm... but the second mouse gets the cheese".A quote I read today floored me and here's why; the two sides
are unequally matched. How can an early bird be compared to a lazy
mouse, and worms with cheese? Many discussions and arguments have arisen
where the combatants try to strengthen their point by crooked thinking.
It might win a couple battles but they're usually short lived. In London slang it's
called 'comparing apples to oranges'. The argument is inherently flawed. So let's not compare, because when we do we'll find ourselves in hot water.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1332883683383280096.post-58238416004308382452011-01-17T16:34:00.008-07:002011-01-17T22:29:39.588-07:00You may delay, but time will not. ~Benjamin FranklinTo my inbox each day Merriam-Webster sends a daily word and last week the word 'procrastinate' appeared but I waited until today to open the email and (for the sake of a good story and poetic license) the definition came with a thumbnail pic of my face. It was unpleasant, not my face that is, but the fact that I am indeed the definition of late. My Dad has described me and my incessant tardiness as, "always late, but worth the wait". Thanks Dad, thanks for turning cold porridge into strawberry shortcake. I remember a job I had where my boss and patrons would place bets on the time I arrived to work. Totally flustered, I'd burst through the door with all the "sorry's" under the sun, while a portion of them erupted and money changed hands. I showed up early one time and there was such an uproar that they decided amongst themselves that I was to be disqualified because no one imagined that I'd ever be early for work. Silly men, drinking beer, like puppies playing ball. Those were the days working at The Bee and I've been meaning to talk about them for a while but I've put it off until now. <br />
<br />
Anyway, where was I? Turning trivialities into the meaningful? It's 2011 and according to the Mayan calender I've got one year to shape up or ship out. According to the Mayans, we have less than one year to make something up, I mean, make something out of ourselves for the big "show and tell" performance come 2012. I'm formulating a case convincing enough to buy me more time and at best another chance. It's not that I'm scared of dying, I'm just frightened by the projects I've started and may never finish. Hmm, eleven and a half months to go. Now that's pressure, but if it weren't for the last minute, I wouldn't get anything done.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1332883683383280096.post-66760426159893091952011-01-14T22:18:00.000-07:002011-01-14T22:18:21.637-07:00New<a href="http://www.facebook.com/note.php?saved&&note_id=492504483443&id=293672453994">http://www.facebook.com/note.php?saved&&note_id=492504483443&id=293672453994</a><br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1332883683383280096.post-39699363693676235812010-12-03T10:06:00.013-07:002010-12-04T07:28:56.245-07:00WinterEngland's weather is never terrific enough to make the headlines. It's irritatingly dull and can't even secure the 50% annual rainfall mark (beaten narrowly by Oregan USA) and Britain coming in at a dismal 49%. Summer months can barely warm the freckle off a red-head and a flurry of snow brings the nation to a stand still. 300 years ago without sensible shoes or gloves on a string Vivaldi composed this...<br />
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<iframe class="youtube-player" frameborder="0" height="390" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/nGdFHJXciAQ?hd=1" title="YouTube video player" type="text/html" width="480"></iframe>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1332883683383280096.post-12547228443962882992010-11-26T11:04:00.004-07:002011-10-09T06:00:45.932-07:00Magna Cum LaudeTrevor has bought new challenges to me. I managed to teach him the meaning of "heel." Mr Lacey, his owner, only knew walking Trev meant a pull through the streets while by-standers watching wondered who was leading who. Trevor has now learned to walk by my side with a combination of bribes and irritating pulls of the leash. He's happier, more contained. Tonight I dressed him in a padded jacket (along with more doggy biscuits and praise) because the weather has turned bitterly cold. It's day three and all is well. Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1332883683383280096.post-65756104567798670792010-11-24T22:26:00.005-07:002010-12-04T07:17:22.588-07:00Pedigree ChumsI started writing this blog to poke fun at people who take their pets too seriously. Before Rojo came onto the scene (and I've never mentioned this before until now) I owned a Betta fish and named him Matthew, which bought great amusement to me. Poor Matthew never made the blog but provided me with ample comic relief. Needless to say he kicked the bucket along with all the rest of my Siamese Fighting fish. They were great, truly great and I owe a lot to them. But today the joke's on me because now I'm seriously involved with a new companion and friend.<br />
<br />
Meet Trevor... <br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1332883683383280096.post-70650503672443925972010-11-08T20:06:00.002-07:002010-11-08T20:09:49.304-07:00Taken from the latest Great Lake of Salt<br />
<i>Messages In The Sunset</i><br />
<br />
<i>Like sparks from a hot saw blade</i><br />
<i>Rotating slow-motion below the horizon</i><br />
<i>Supernatural light in distorted refraction gradually bends</i><br />
<i>Along the thin line of twilight </i><br />
<i>Longitude and latitude</i><br />
<i>Tilting the axis of our souls in silent awe</i><br />
<br />
<i>God's translucent nocturnal art</i><br />
<i>Of divine fireworks bathes us</i><br />
<i>In His intense spectrum of wavelengths</i><br />
<i>Creating an afterglow of defused smiles</i><br />
<i>Then overcasts these sublime reflections</i><br />
<i>Catching fire in the watery eyes of humility</i><br />
<br />
<i>Stretching forth His kodachrome hand</i><br />
<i>Suspending His symphony of colors within a stillness</i><br />
<i>Displaying gentle flashes of fearful and trembling hues</i><br />
<i>Taking us home momentarily</i><br />
<i>To regenerate us in preparation</i><br />
<i>For His next gift of a new brilliant sunrise</i><br />
<br />
<i>markusurealious/windpoet</i><br />
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</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1332883683383280096.post-76411803082348811792010-11-02T21:39:00.008-07:002010-12-04T05:52:51.492-07:00A Shot-Gun WeddingA revisit to the poet W.H.Auden I discovered that we have a few things in common; he and I were both born in England, grew up in Birmingham, and spent some years in America. The central themes of his poetry are similar to that of my blog, i.e. subjects of love, God, morals, and the relationship between unique human beings
and the anonymous, impersonal world of nature (my fish dying and so on). Auden's friends from his Oxford years described him as
being funny, extravagant, sympathetic, generous, and, partly by his own
choice, lonely. <br />
<br />
This reading from the late great poet <b>Wystan Hugh Auden (1907-1973) </b>is my latest favourite of England's finest...<br />
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<br />
<iframe class="youtube-player" frameborder="0" height="300" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/b8_jmtbvzmY?rel=0&hd=1" title="YouTube video player" type="text/html" width="480"></iframe>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1332883683383280096.post-45669658356359983952010-10-25T18:54:00.006-07:002010-12-04T05:54:22.646-07:00T.S Eliot reading 'The Love Song of Sir Alfred Prufrock'A professor I had in grammar school some fifteen years ago kicked my class into studying this poem and I've never forgotten it's opening line;<br />
<br />
"Let us go then, you and I,<br />
While the evening is spread out against the sky..."<br />
<br />
How romantic, but there's more... <br />
<br />
I found an original recording of Mr Eliot reading his magnum opus on YouTube. (Pay attention to the end part where he describes the waves). It's good stuff! <br />
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<br />
<iframe class="youtube-player" frameborder="0" height="390" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/NhiCMAG658M?rel=0&hd=1" title="YouTube video player" type="text/html" width="480"></iframe>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1332883683383280096.post-79841432615860181772010-10-21T15:35:00.013-07:002011-10-09T06:44:52.232-07:00Synergy: A Collaboration. A Piece of our minds.<span style="color: cyan;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Dave Christensen sent me the following prose. After ingestion and many hours I folded it into a poem. </span></span></span><b style="color: cyan;"> </b><br />
<br />
<b style="color: cyan;">Friends and Computers:</b><br />
<br />
For some really stupid reasons we file
some away forever; yet a few eventually make it out of the bin and
recycle back. A few might be in a police file, and there are some who
probably should be in the X files. There are those who can play our
hearts like a keyboard and whisper all types of digitized sweet nothings
to brighten our screens. Other times we search for the right passwords
to bring back those we have defaulted, trying everything we can to open
them back up to us again. Those that we inadvertently cut might later
feel like pasting us....and also think about putting a boot-up our @*#!
Real special ones know just how to gently defrag us. On occasion we turn
ourselves into fine-tuned engines and search for just the right one to
surf through the rest of our life together with. Yet so many times we
somehow never let get downloaded the right programs to upgrade us. Then
there is God, Who knows us all without ever having to use google. Who
can processes trillions of requests - then answer them all in the
twinkling of an eye, sending his Spirit to virus scan our hearts in
order to restore our hard driven souls - reinstalling purpose as He
Casts His Net. He then leaves it entirely up to us if we want to be
deleted out of his Facebook of life or not... but would rather have us
all His best friends forever.<br />
<br />
Mr KKBB<br />
<br />
***<br />
<br />
And this is what came out the other end... <br />
<br />
<b style="color: cyan;">An Ode; To the Few</b> <br />
<br />
Seasons of men are filed<br />
and reviled<br />
reasons for that which they lack;<br />
'Tis treason to assume<br />
that a few in their gloom<br />
can't recycle themselves from their bins and back. <br />
<br />
A few <br />
might be logged in police piles,<br />
and some who belong in the X files. <br />
There are those who can play our hearts like a keyboard, <br />
typing with whispers in digitized dreams <br />
to sweeten our screens<br />
Ice scream! <br />
<br />
A few<br />
are searching for passwords <br />
with swords to bring the defaulted<br />
and exalted.<br />
Trying in pain<br />
to reach and to teach <br />
opening wounds up again,<br />
in vein.<br />
<br />
A few<br />
by mistake<br />
we've cut up like cake.<br />
And in place of a hand<br />
(just for good measure and with way too much pleasure) <br />
we've offered a swift boot to the head.<br />
Instead.<br />
<br />
A few<br />
of the silent know how to coerce<br />
and gently defrag us. <br />
No cuss. <br />
No fuss.<br />
<br />
A few<br />
are brighter than most!<br />
Outstanding alone and tall as a post!<br />
Winking and shining, tugging her boats from out of the bleak...<br />
upon shores of rocks <br />
designed for the weak. <br />
<br />
A house of light....<br />
<br />
Is He.<br />
Knowing us inside and out.<br />
Without google, or frugle, or poodles with noodles, processing trillions and squillions of rants <br />
twinkling His eye from out of the skies<br />
scanning our hearts<br />
and restoring the hard<br />
driven souls from our wants <br />
and desires. <br />
Installing the wires<br />
again and again<br />
in the rain.<br />
<br />
Not a few <br />
but for all!<br />
<br />
His net stretching wide to catch the Fall;<br />
The deleted, deflated, fragmented, placated, the Faces with and without.<br />
Booking the lives of our time.<br />
Sublime! <br />
<br />
So from out of the bin<br />
all's forgiven<br />
He's risen!<br />
<br />
Lending us time<br />
to climb<br />
back again<br />
with renewal<br />
of a greater precision.<br />
<br />
***Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1332883683383280096.post-55121985867218175222010-10-11T23:19:00.001-07:002010-10-11T23:22:28.512-07:00A Job for Steve<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">iHad to take my broken laptop into the Mac store the other day, and by appointment only iBattled my way through an orchard of iScrumpers playing with the latest of iThings and handed my bruised fruit to an iGeek sporting a pair of Woody Allen spectacles. He tested my computer for fatalities and he broke the solemn news that iNdeed my hard drive was broken and iHad lost everything. Crying on the iNside, realizing how much iHad lost, iAsked him to explain what a hard drive is and how it works. iThought it was all done by magic. He told me that iCan send iT to a data retrieving lab where people dressed in a bee-keeper type astronaut outfit working in a dust free lab fixing it by hand and that my broken drive can be retrieved. </span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1332883683383280096.post-38850809991651009972010-09-04T10:25:00.009-07:002011-10-09T07:01:33.715-07:00And now for some NEWSFidel Castro, <b>Cuba's </b>former president, gave a rare interview to a Mexican newspaper. He said the intestinal illness he has suffered in recent years had left him "at death's door", and expressed regret for having officially persecuted gays in the 1960s and 1970s.<br />
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Pakistanis and cricket-lovers were mortified after a newspaper sting appeared to show members of the Pakistani test side agreeing, through an agent, to rig parts of a game against England in exchange for £150,000 ($230,000). <b>Pakistan's </b>prime minister, Yousaf Raza Gilani, spoke for many when he said accusations against the team "have caused great embarrassment for the entire nation."<br />
<br />
Jennifer Aniston arrived in Africa earlier this week to sign the papers to adopt a 33 year old man named Nagassi. An adoption agency in the U.S helped Jen secure Nagassi from an east African orphanage and will soon be the Hollywood actor's new boyfriend. For years Ms. Aniston has tried unsuccessfully to get a man the natural way but now finally has someone to share her life with. Mr Nagassi was reported to being a little shy when they first met but she apparently took him in her arms and said, "you're mine now, you'll be with me forever, and you're not going anywhere." Best of luck to the happy couple.<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1332883683383280096.post-86988760369068173412010-08-30T18:22:00.004-07:002010-08-30T20:49:25.082-07:00Always Late, But Worth the WaitA bumper sticker I read once said, "Jesus is Coming, Look Busy". I was stuck in traffic at the time and after reading that I had the urge to grab a cloth or sort through my paper work, neither of which were there. Talk about leaving redemption to the last minute. <br />
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I've had the line "slouching towards Bethlehem" running around my mind and I found it's origin at the end of a Yeats poem I studied in grammar school. The def. of gyre is a circular or spiral form; a vortex.<br />
<br />
<b>The Second Coming</b><br />
<br />
Turning and turning in the widening gyre <br />
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
<br />
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
<br />
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
<br />
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
<br />
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
<br />
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
<br />
Are full of passionate intensity.<br />
<br />
Surely some revelation is at hand;
<br />
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
<br />
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
<br />
When a vast image out of <i>Spiritus Mundi</i>
<br />
Troubles my sight; somewhere in sands of the desert
<br />
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
<br />
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
<br />
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
<br />
Reel shadows of indignant desert birds.
<br />
The darkness drops again; but now I know
<br />
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
<br />
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
<br />
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
<br />
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1332883683383280096.post-56540175584355094712010-08-22T20:05:00.036-07:002011-10-09T07:25:49.570-07:00I'm gonna wash that Air right outta my Show<br />
Two seagulls flying along the motorway were passed by a roaring jet plane. The one gull turns to the other and says, "Caw, I wish I could fly like that". And the other replies, "You would if you had two bottoms on fire!"<br />
<br />
The first day of Britain's Air Show commenced five days ago, filling the skies with ear-drumming resonance as spit-fires, red arrows, and everything else in between went pounding over-head. I don't know much about WWII and my knowledge of planes is even thinner. I remember being at home with my father that day and him recognizing the rumble of a Lancaster droning in the distance. Without a word he left his desk and I followed him to the window where we caught a glimpse of an historical bird pummeling by, like a steamroller on wings.<br />
<br />
But unlike last year this show caught the wrath of Britain's most dismal and soul-destroying weather which spat upon it's fire-works, tourists, and throngs of people turned out to anticipate the thundering arrival of the Vulcan and Euro Bomber divas, hoping to amends the gloomy skies. The weather never came, the event nose-dived, and the clouds were wrung out to dry hanging like a rag over the exodus of disillusioned families on holiday making their way back home. Somewhere above the trail of traffic and high above the clouds a mechanical flock with their bottoms on fire flew home. <br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="http://bournemouthairshow2010.co.uk/">http://bournemouthairshow2010.co.uk/ </a><br />
<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1332883683383280096.post-63384384212138632082010-08-14T20:15:00.090-07:002011-11-29T15:56:23.416-07:00Breaking up with CapitalismAt twenty-two, sophomoric, and frightened by the bog of mediocrity I leapt like a frog out of boiling water and nose-dived straight into Ayn Rand's horribly written but persuasive novel, Atlas Shrugged. After a 1300 page slog of brain-washing repetitions of far right-wing ideology I resolved to handbag the world like Margaret Thatcher did in 1979 and privatize everything; the police force, the fire department, coast guard, and whatever else got in the way of this great machine. I'd fallen in love with capitalism. That was ten years ago. But get this...<br />
<br />
I live in Bournemouth on the south coast of England. I call it the Florida of Britain because similar to the sunny state, it has a temperate climate, a great beach, and lots of old people. I live in the neighbouring village of Westbourne which is bound together by Victorian shops and two story flats built in the late 1800's by Henry Joy's and I happen to live in the heart of it. There's a butcher, a baker, a bookstore, a shoe maker, and a place to buy a candlestick. Makers of fine clothiers, hat-makers, and jewelers are drawn into the fabric of Westbourne making it the most fashionable pocket in Dorset.<br />
<br />
The small community is also nourished with four good pubs, three Indian restaurants, a first rate Greek eatery, a French patisserie, and a Bang and Olufsen shop to boot. My bank is a stone's throw away and the tellers know my name and never ask for i.d. Even the local street sleeper Ralph, who used to sleep in the bushes died tragically a year ago is still missed and remembered by everyone. So how can a trendy district such as this, with bad parking and expensive clothes care so much for a roughian?<br />
<br />
But the busiest business is a convenience shop run by a South African couple. It operates like clockwork opening at 5am till ten at night. Patriotic flags hang outside and with hanging baskets of flowers. Directly above, the flats have been drastically improved with new windows and a repaired roof, sandwiched between lazy landlords who I imagine must wince by comparison. This couple have carved out a living for themselves and probably risked a lot in doing so. So capitalism -Yes!<br />
<br />
A Mega-Mart lies up the street, a short 15 minute walk away, with it's 24 hour shopping, ample parking, and petrol. But this hog has decided to moor a piggy ship in the middle of Westbourne. It's prices compete by tens of pennies and will cost the community it's personality and intimacy which drove people here in the first place. Now is that a fair trade?<br />
<br />
Capitalism I think needs revising.<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1332883683383280096.post-85950008284256768502010-08-10T01:00:00.004-07:002011-12-19T21:25:40.574-07:00The man who rocked the boatChristopher Hitchens has been a regular guest on global news networks for the last decade and he usually appears looking disheveled, hungover, and wearing a suit that he slept in. His opinion intrigues people because his mind is anything but asleep. I admire the man for his courage and opinion which has been contraversial but he's done his homework, knows his history and has the wit to take on the worst thugs and baffoons this world has ever seen. He's a maverick and think-tanks far and wide have scratched their heads in baffled amazement. He's original I love him. But my favourite is how he perfected the insult by way of an understatement, "That ugly little toad" for instance is more devestating than the most vulgar of profanity.<br />
<br />
Christopher Hitchens is a peddler of atheism and has published books in it's defence. A century ago Charles Dickens said, "An education without God, as useful as it is, seems rather to make man a clever devil". <br />
<br />
Hitchens has been struck by the cancer stick. He'll die by and bye, but I'd love to be there when he meets Jerry Falwell on the other side.<br />
<br />
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