Alternative announcements for the London Tube, voiced by the woman who does the real ones.
Though 10 has its partisans.
Images: Luigi Loir, Underground Railway, 1899
This is just too delicious not to share, thus breaking my promise-to-self not to blog till a particular bit of work got out the door.
Seems that the Guardian’s Agony Aunt (advice) column had a doozy of a problem presented a few weeks ago under this headline:
I fantasise [sic] about sex with old, obese men
It then goes on from there in a bit of a NSFW way — and it I’ll leave it to better forensic analysts than me to judge the likelihood there’s a real person behind the query. But the joy of all this is not the mild smut, nor the rubber necking pleasure that comes from watching a sentence start that can’t possibly end well, nor even the studied earnestness of the advice columnist’s reply (“…consider searching for the root…” and so on). No, it lies with picture. A shot of a very nice looking young woman in rather chic PJs, looking …well just about as you’d expect. The catch is the person in the picture does not, in fact, lie back and think of geezers in the midst of her actual passions. The model, Samantha Ovens, had posed for a stock shot a couple of years back, and she was as surprised as any to find out about her supposed illicit desires:
“I opened it up when I was with some friends,” says Ovens, who had been tipped off at the weekend by the Twitter whirlwind. “In fact, I was with my partner’s mum as well. I screeched with laughter and said: ‘Oh. You have to see this.’ There’s me looking very anxious, and I bloody well would be, wouldn’t I?”
Go check out the rest of the piece, also at the Guardian, snarking at the whole affair; harmless fun with which to ring in the cocktail hour.
Image: attributed to Anthony van Dyck, Drunken Silenus supported by Satyrs, c. 1620
Here’s Carlin* on the current impasse.
And now, in the interest of equal time, here is a message from the National Institute of Pancakes: It reads, and I quote, “Fuck waffles.”
How do we know that if God does exist She had her sense of humor amputated? Carlin’s dead while Dennis Miller yet lives.
*Number 70 on that list of comedy gold.
Image: Pieter Cornelisz van Slingelandt, Breakfast of a Young Man, before 1691.
With a hat tip to my science writing friend, the inimitable Steve Silberman, here’s a story about a Czech citizen who has won the right to wear a colander on his head in the photo on his government ID.
The reason? He’s a pastafarian, which makes the issue the Czech equivalent of a first amendment issue:*
Czech officials ruled that the nation’s religious liberty laws required this result. According to a government spokesperson, Novy’s request “complies with the laws of the Czech Republic where headgear for religious or medical reasons is permitted if it does not hide the face.”
As a langiappe: In today’s image — a pasta/founding father connection:
Got some more substantive stuff going for this space, but couldn’t resist this little niblet.
What’s saucing your spaghetti today?
*Full disclosure: the Think Progress piece at the link connects back to the Daily Mail, and I have presumption of distrust at anything from that particular source. But there is a category of journalistic endeavor known as the “too good to check” story — and in my view, this is one of those. You’ve been warned.
Image: Thomas Jefferson, Design for a maccaroni (sic) making machine, c. 1787.
Let’s keep the night alive with this gem:
So what off-coloratura* ripostes do y’all go going tonight?
Yr. Bargain Counter Tenor*
*stolen, brazenly, from the great Herr Doktor Peter Schickele/PDQ Bach, and the cast list from his half-act opera, The Stoned Guest.
This morning I got copied on an email blast intended to encourage our graduate students to finish their theses in the next few days.
Cruel, I call it.
But still, it works for me as a goad to push Monday up the rails.
(Credit where credit is due, dept: the vid came to my correspondent via Gawker, btw)
Chat about whatever, with bonus points for any discussion of impossible tasks to be done by Friday. Mine? Finish version 4 (a conservative estimate) of my damn book proposal.
Sometimes the internet is a swamp in which time — hell, vast swaths of life — get sucked into oblivion. Sometimes the ‘tubes are merely a crush of blinkered Philistine pig-ignorance. I suppose that for some life online is just one long “kidz theze dayz” lament…
And then one comes across something like this:
This is thanks to my Imperial College science writer and twitter buddy, @AliceBell, who has thus introduced me to the bizarre world of BBC weather report homages — of which, without the ‘net, I would never have had knowledge.
(Because I love you: bonus Monty Python sketch with a connection to the post title.)
…But Oh. So. Tasty.
I’ve been conspicuous (or not) by my absence, I know, and will probably continue to be so for a while, as daily life does what it does so well.
But I’ve been collecting a few odds and ends that this crowd might enjoy, so I thought I’d offer them up as a peace offering until I can post something that actually has some substance to it. Think of this as the third cotton candy stick you got as a kid, just before it all went pear shaped at the top of the Tilt-O-Whirl.
First up, via DKos, a truly delightful take on a song that my son has not let me escape in months (Ah, the joys of being well into middle age, and being schooled by your 12 y.o.) Apparently, the thing is authentically what it alleges itself to be, the Royal Engineers living the pop life in somewhat forbidding circumstances:
Via Daily Kos, here’s a US Army version, equally…how to put it…charming:
I’ll leave it to y’all to decide which side of the Atlantic wins this battle of bands.
But I can say that my beloved uncle, a career officer in the Royal Artillery, warned me about those engineering boys.*
Which advice allows me to partake of the “not-quite-500-miles-away”** school of segues to take you to one of the latest effusions from a noted engineering school — one that produced what, to my admittedly biased view, is the best of the exploding universe of Gangnam Style parodies.
Which is to say, here is the MIT version. Watch for the cameos — I’m not sure I’ll ever think about genomics in quite the same way after seeing Eric Lander’s performance. But the capper is one I’ll let you discover, if your eyeballs aren’t already bleeding at the thought of yet more PSY coming your way.
Oh, and open thread too.
*not intended to be a factual statement
**The not-quite-500-miles-away” segue was the term of art applied to the habit of the BBC programme Panorama to feign a link between two segments by saying something on the order of “Not 500 miles away from where Joe Bloggs was trapped in a death embrace with his pet python, Mary Scroggs paused, startled, while watering her petunias.” Or some such.
posted stolen anything from xkcd lately — dropped out of the habit of reading it for while, actually — but a couple of hyperbright young geek friends of mine reminded me of what I’ve been missing.
Hence, just now, as I ponder this morning’s posts from around the web with more stomach for the fray than I can muster today, I stumble on this:
John Maynard Keynes was right, but incomplete. In the long run we are all dead. In the medium turn, we are understood as fossils by the kids who just won’t get off my lawn.
What do you plan to forget today?
Edit: I just noticed that the 1/2 way to oblivion date for the Bush Presidency is scheduled for 2043. Watching coverage of the GOP effort this year, I’d say Romney’s team is desperately trying to move that date up.
I’m still basically on my work/life-compelled blog hiatus, but I could not so abandon you all as to fail to bring to your attention serious-charismatic-megafauna-gettin’-busy video.
Hence, Ladles and Jellyspoons, may I present some awesome rhino porn:
Do read the story framing the clip. There is the suggestion of some significant insights into animal behavior that may — emphasize the tentative there — have real bearing on other conservation/species restoration efforts.
PS: Here’s a bonus video of rhino courtship: