This is right up there with wanting the James Bond car so that one could drop oil slicks or caltrops for tailgaters. Excessive, yes, but on our worse days, the thoughtlessness of others can drive us to wishing, just a little, that we could actually do something like this. At least, for some of us, it can . . . Check the mouseover on this one.
I don’t normally post food reviews—actually, let’s come right out and say it, I’ve never before posted a food review, and never thought to do so—and even if I did, I’d have no particular reason to post a review of a restaurant in England, seeing as I live on the wrong side of the Great Puddle; but the food reviewer for The Times of London, AA Gill, just had an absolute screaming fit in print, handing out a zero-star review that actually, if you can believe it, makes the grade sound at least one star too high. The whole thing’s worth reading for sheer unintentional comedy value (though one does feel a certain sharp sympathy for Gill for having to endure the experience), but the opening in particular is beyond price:
You’d think they’d get it. You’d think, wouldn’t you, that when the world falls on your head, you might do something different. It’s like Moses. Comes down from the mountain, still smelling of burning bush, eyes revolving, levitating with the true believer’s va-va-voom, and he bellows: “God, the God—Mr God to you—just gave me these instructions, written in sodding marble, and it’s going to get us out of here. After 40 years in this hole, we’re going home. Milk and honey, vineyards, fedoras. Listen up.”Then a bloke at the back says: “Well now, hold on. Hold on. Maybe we shouldn’t be hasty in discarding the golden calf. Granted, it’s been a bit tricky recently, but it just needs a bit of tweaking. Have you ever thought that perhaps what we need is a bigger golden calf?”And that’s when Moses loses the plot, and throws a right strop. Not only did God give him celestial sat-nav, he also gave him a proper, Old Testament, fundamental fire-and-brimstone temper. (That and a foreskin, which was something of a novelty for the Jewish ladies.) Anyway, I’m with Moses. Not only the foreskin bit, but I’m just about to have an exodus tantrum.
Read the whole thing, and you’ll understand why . . .
This must be seen to be believed . . . and even then, it’s hard.
HT: The Anchoress
I’ve never even watched 24, but these Japanese commercials for the show on DVD are still quite funny.
Here’s a neat story out of Bellevue, Washington: a former Washington Mutual employee turned the tables on burglars who were trying to rob his house, sneaking out the back door and stealing their getaway van. Results: two startled burglars, all his electronics left in a pile by the door (since the burglars weren’t going to try to carry his stuff away on foot), and a bunch of high-fives from the police. To be sure, he got lucky, but still—you have to applaud his quick thinking and presence of mind.
On the list of things it would never have occurred to me could happen—I heard this over the speakers at the grocery store this afternoon:
My thanks to the Baseball Crank for calling attention to this “catastrophic failure of copy-editing” from an Australian interview with Neil Young.
That’s frost on the inside of our back door.
You’ve probably seen the report that the porn industry wants a $5 billion bailout (I guess they’re getting hammered by free Internet competition just like the newspaper industry—well, maybe not just like, but it’s the same sort of problem); they’ve even offered to give Congress equity stakes. That’s all we need, Congress helping run the porn industry. We’d never be able to think of a government stimulus package the same way again.
I saw this in The Classic FM Pocket Book of Music, which I ran across at Dr. Kavanaugh’s house; this is the entry on the French horn:
A member of the brass family, if this instrument was uncoiled it would not only stretch for more than three metres, it would also give you something to do on a Sunday afternoon. Best not attempted during the quiet bit in a concert, though. Great composers for the horn include Mozart and Richard Strauss.
And just to be fair, here’s what they have to say about mine own instrument, the bassoon:
The bassoon is the lowest woodwind instrument of the orchestra. It looks something like a didgeridoo wearing too much jewellery, but with an espresso frother coming out of the side. In fact, just like espresso, it too comes in single and double varieties.