Remember the words of Groucho Marx when you think about the modern political situation, for it’s as true now as it was then:
“Politics is the art of looking for trouble, finding it everywhere, diagnosing it incorrectly and applying the wrong remedies.”
Hell, I’ve got another for ya.
“All people are born alike – except Republicans and Democrats.”
“Quote me as saying I was mis-quoted.”
I admit, most of the reason I signed up for twitter is because Stephen Fry is on, and I thought, what the hey. If I don’t like it, I can always remove myself from the august peerage of the Twitting hoi polloi.
Hmm. A thought just occurred to me – are people who use Twitter Twitterers, or would it be a better phrase, a mot juste, to simply call them Twits? Must think on it.
In my defense, I am as fascinated by new shiny toys as the rest… And I adore cats, as well. Like with cats, however, I prefer that my new shiny be as debugged as possible before it comes into my house.
For those of you on the frontiers of technology who have already passed the edges of light expanding past the universe, and who look back on late adopters like me with a sort of fond disdain, I say this: It is a far wiser man who lets evolution do its work before dipping his dainty toes into the genetic murk. And that stands true especially for technology.
This is the blog of perhaps the only man living that I would trust to lead the defense of my country and liberties. Too bad he’s no longer in uniform.
My household recently adopted a cat. The cat had hung around my room-mate’s work site for months, begging for food and sleeping on the doorstep (the work site was a residential remodel). The cat had no collar, but was not in bad shape. The roommate’s boss told him to get the cat off of the work site, one way or another. So… yeah. Yet another addition to the menagerie.
When the cat arrived, all the other roommates and I argued over what to name her. Some argued for ‘numb-nuts’, some argued for ‘cat’, some argued for long complicated names that I can’t remember and wouldn’t bother printing if I did.
I just called her sweetheart, because it’s something I call anyone whose name I can’t remember.
And she is mellow, sweet, and does something no cat of mine has ever done before (and I’ve owned many) – she sleeps every night curled up next to me, usually snuggled up to my belly.
She has this interesting habit. She likes to drag around a stuffed animal of mine, a miniature siberian tiger that was lying in the room when I moved in. She grabs it by the scruff of the neck and drags it all over the house, making this absurd little mewling noise.
Imagine my shock when I pick the cat up in the middle of the dragging routine to give it some love for being so cute, and discover a rapidly retreating, how to say, tumescence?
Turns out the dragging was latent mating behavior. I guess ‘Sweetheart’ has a thing for platinum blondes.
So I have a male cat named Sweetheart. @#$!&.
Par for the god-damned course.
Here’s some Stephen Fry at his comedic best, hosting the fantastic british quiz show, QI.
And because I firmly believe in the beauty of irony, here’s a little something I stumbled onto on youtube… I hear there’s going to be a ringtone out any time now…
okay, okay… last bit…. but only because it involves Jesus, custard, and gay innuendo. ^^