Last night’s pie was the pie of Satan. I’m not sure how it got so evil, but it was evil.
Fortunately my uberstrong immune system meant that I only suffered a couple of hours of high temperature, but still. Is this enough to put me off of pie?
UPDATE: A photo of the evil pie. Looks harmless enough, doesn’t it?
Book #15 of 2005
The Catcher in the Rye, by JD Salinger
The thing is, it’s really hard to be roommates with people if your suitcases are much better than theirs – if yours are really good ones and theirs aren’t. You think if they’re intelligent and all, the other person, and have a good sense of humor, that they don’t give a damn whose suitcases are better, but they do. They really do. It’s one of the reasons why I roomed with a stupid bastard like Stradlater. At least his suitcases were as good as mine.
The observant among you, or those without any better entertainment, will remember how, a little over two years ago, Pete and I met in a comments box on Hydragenic, in an exchange about the deistic properties of Jarvis Cocker. Occasionally we bring it up, still wondering at such a fortuitous coincidence.
Two weeks short of our second anniversary, we went out on a date last night and one of us mentioned a blog we had been reading – something to do with a girl in a coffee shop – and the other said oh! yes! I’ve been reading that one!, and it turns out to be the only site either of us clicked on from Mike’s Bloggers’ Disco post, simply because andre has nominated Pulp’s Disco 2000.
So if we hadn’t met on Hydragenic, we would have found each other on Troubled Diva anyway. It was meant to be.
And to the person who recently referred to us as the Posh & Becks of blogging [you know who you are]: a hard stare.
Hitch Hikers Guide To The Galaxy
It’s been out for a couple of weeks, but I’ve only just got round to seeing it. I suggest that you download the high resolution version (direct link) and view it full screen.
Very witty and self-referential. And full of explosions.
Hey, do you remember FEEA?
Well, I decided that it was about time that I re-evaluated. So I turned to a fresh page in my notebook, swatted the hummingbirds away from around my head, and set to work.
Three main points were apparent.
Mike – doing what he does so well: combining weblog interactivity, music, and charidee.
I tried to think of something disco-ish, but I couldn’t, which is why I’m not a DJ. Instead I nominate Too Drunk To Fuck: a version that you really ought to hear.
Pete, on the other hand, is an accomplished DJ (I’ve heard the recordings that prove it); and has sensibly chosen Common People by Pulp.
Our postman has a bad tendency to leave parcels leaning against our front door. Considering we live on a main road, across from a railway station, with a very small front yard, it’s not really surprising that we only receive every other Amazon parcel that gets despatched in our direction.
Fortunately, old postie had a brainwave this week, and managed to fill in one of those little cards informing me that I had to report to the sorting office in order to receive a box full of goodies. And just for once, they were all for me.
With grateful thanks to red clay, the night before last we watched The Princess Bride, which was delightfully camp, and close enough to the book to please me. Then we went to bed and listened to Willy Mason’s Where the Humans Eat, which skipped and jumped a fair bit, but we were too sleepy to investigate whether it was the disk or the dusty hifi that had the problem. The only thing I haven’t opened yet is The Hotel New Hampshire, but that’s only because I’m in the middle of The Catcher in the Rye.
A week’s worth of entertainment in a box; much appreciated.
We like oil. The one in the right has chillis in it. They are currently the same colour, but lets keep an eye on them.
I’m very distracted.