Howdy!

Speakin' of moving thru time...
turns out The Antikythera Mechanism might have been a calender!

Birthday Bitches!

I have now officially ridden this bastard ride from hell, a lot of times...

I will say this for the experience, every orbit is full of a mess of things I didn't foresee comin'. Some great, some good, some bad, some terrifying.

Yet, time is a human construct based totally on our planet's relationship with our star that we have called the Sun. Our pal Rhino has a pretty nice take on it right here. But an orbit of our sun has been broken down into mathematical certainties, tomorrow will be 24 hours, the last day in a 31 day month, that will add up with all the other months into 365 days. (and a tiny remainder we tack on for leap years)

But there is also a point of realization that time is really fjuckin' malleable, and it never means what you think it does. Malleable? Watch two people kissing in public, and suddenly time slows to a stupid crawl. Malleable? Experience time in a car crash, how long do those milliseconds last? Time is a scientific/mechanical/solar measurement that obeys its own objective rules, yet quite apparently has a completely subjective interpretation as you move through those moments.

I've posted a version of this vid before, and I've never liked it that much, such a nice song with such unwatchable visuals...

Nevertheless, the line "one good minute could last me a whole year" is worth hearing.

EARTHQUAKE!!! Oh noes...

perhaps you'd like to see the IM chat I had at the time?

12:10 PM Charlie: QUAKE!!
THE BEARS ARE COMING?!
12:14 PM me: Holy Shit!!! GIANT BEARS!!!!
12:15 PM THEY'RE RIGHT OUTSIDE YOUR HOUSE!!!!
Charlie: nooooooooooo
12:17 PM me: heh...that was kinda fun, huh? the news says 5.1 - epecenter between here and Riverside
12:18 PM Charlie: nice
12:19 PM it was 5.6-5.8 apparently in chino
thats what news says anyways
me: Yeah - I just heard that update...why does god hate Chino?
12:20 PM Charlie: i dunno?
cuz it looks kinds like rhino
and rhinos are fucking scarty
12:21 PM me: Dude! I mean Word! I mean...fuckin' rhino dawg!
12:22 PM trample yo ass n' shit
12:23 PM Charlie: fuck!
i hate rhinos!!
12:25 PM me: did you know a group of rhinos is called a "crash"
serious
wonder what you call a group of the Swiss?
12:26 PM Charlie: rhinos
they are synomyms
12:27 PM me: that's insideous
12:28 PM they pretend to be all neutral and shit, then gore you with their giant nose-horn!
12:30 PM Charlie: its fucked
12:32 PM me: yeah
don't forget the GIANT BEARS OUTSIDE YOUR HOUSE
Charlie: http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/science/nature/7530720.stm
im more worried about drunken tree rats
12:33 PM me: wow...thanks for the 4-1-1.
12:34 PM Malaysia's pen-tailed tree-shrew...
riiiight...like that's a real name
drunken tree-rat is what that is
12:36 PM Charlie: yup

Here's a small line I did not expect to read today

TERRIFIED workers at a mining compound in one of Russia's most isolated regions are refusing to go to work after a pack of giant bears attacked and ate two of their colleagues.

I guess after that, there really isn't that much to say, is there?


(full story here)

It's Come To My Attention...

That, what with the near constant surveillance we've got going on in our modern 21st Century world, that owning a mask might be prudent just to maintain your Gjod-given right to remain anonymous. However, there is something off-putting about masks that instantly gets you lumped into the "crackpot/crazy/bank-robber" faction, that doesn't lend itself to polite society.

Now there's the comedic route, such as the classic "Groucho" glasses/moustache combo such as this...




but c'mon...this has got no style, no panache, no...long-term applications. It's a one-off gag, which explains why you can still buy it for a buck in novelty shops.


No, in bringing this particular theme to your attention, your WCB Fjordian correspondent is well aware that readers of Fjord are the most attractive of all blog readers, and that you also demand that this physical gift be not only acknowledged, but embraced with the style your physical beauty deserves.


"Might as well put Groucho glasses on the Venus Di Milo! " You say, "Funny for a minute, but Gjoddang! We're out here trying to inspire the masses with our astounding good looks, impeccable charm, and being on the cutting edge of looking fantastically glamorous! This won't do! This won't do at all! We have an entire society to transform by our example!"

To which I'd heartily agree. However, I think I may have stumbled upon the answer! Take a gander at THIS!






Yep...stylish, dangerous, and anonymous! And yet...who can lump an affectionado of fencing into the "crackpot/crazy/bank robber" faction? No one! It's a glamorous and elite sport. And, it also looks nice on the ladies!


(apart from the model's dead eyes...but anyhoo...)


I've never been an advocate of the futurists take on the unisex "unitard" as what we're all going to be wearing in the future...but I'd much rather look like this:


Than this...







Just sayin'.


Well, this has been your Fjordian Style Tip for the week. Thanks for swingin' by.

-Tsunami-



(usual disclaimers for this google-search-image-heavy-post, if one's yers and you don't want it here, lemme know and it'll disappear post-haste)

Whaddaya think of this one?

In other news, seriously...the Capital of Canada is Ottawa. Remember this fact kids...OTTAWA!

I suppose this deserves a funny bit from the country that has a LEAF AS THE ONLY SYMBOL ON IT'S FLAG! (which is totally awesome in my book) So here's this...

Wow!

You'd be doing yourself a favor if you watched this...



...sometimes the innernets is not oppressive...
(this is apparently a theme now...)

Well, I guess to repeat wat I said a coupla' posts earlier...

The innernets is oppressive...

***this post bugged me so I destroyed it! All Hail Dario Tsunami Destroyer Of Posts!***

the gist is rite here

I did try and get you here, didn't I?

"The problem with looking ridiculously amazing all the time is that the clothes that make you look ridiculously amazing quickly become dirty. Especially when you find yourself in the desert." Said Friday to the gathered weekdays. The Five were all in dark suits, looking like gangsters in a Tarentino film. They of course were on hard-pan desert, and sweating buckets under felt fedora hats. The sun beat down unmercifully.

"Yeah." Replied Thursday, "Hard enough to actually find amazing clothes, but then there's the investment of time and money to keep them clean." He made an awkward face as he looked down to his 700 dollar Steve Madden shoes that were so covered in dust, it was nearly impossible to tell when the shoes stopped and the desert began.

"Sort of a, 'desert business casual,' would have been more appropriate for the invite, methinks." Said Tuesday, taking off his jacket and throwing it over his shoulder. "I've got a few things feeling neglected in the 'ole wardrobe that would've fit that bill." He looked off sadly towards the horizon that danced with heated air into a crazy mirage of reflected water. There was nothing else to be seen in any direction.

"C'mon guys!" Wednesday said sarcastically, wiping his sweating brow with a silk handkerchief pulled from his jacket. "Fresh air, sunlight, the great outdoors! People take vacations for this shit! It's great here!" As he spoke he found a dusty rock, and promptly dropped himself upon it. "Yeesh," he said, wondering when his hump was going to begin sweating through his jacket...he figured it couldn't be more than a few more minutes.

"This is the right spot, yeah?" Monday said, pulling out a small GPS device. "Yep, this is the spot. Are we on synchronized time? I gots 5:07." The other weekdays looked at phones or watches and nodded in various ways their agreement. "Well," He said after this acknowledgment, "Fuck."

"Yeah." Said Tuesday, "I'm getting the feeling that we might have been set-up."

Then a droning hum came to their ears, and a cooling shadow crossed over the sun, causing their eyes to be drawn skyward. Against which and straining against the sun, they were able to make out the silhouette. A huge pair of Zeppelins glided slowly against the sky, between them, like a catamaran, was a platform that linked the two dirigibles together. From there, a smaller, stranger shadow emerged, falling towards them. It was a small square or rectangle, but the nature of what it might be was only apparent when it had stopped moving and hovered two feet off the ground.
A Persian rug hovered there, controlled by a typically dressed British Butler. He looked expectantly at them, but seeing only confusion, broke the silence with a suitably toned voice of both deference and sarcasm.
"I don't have to explain I am to take you to the ball, do I?"

"Of course not my good man!" Said Friday, leaping onto the flying carpet. The other weekdays were quick to follow his lead, and in a moment were all hovering just above the ground.

"Excellent!" The Butler-esqe man said, and by some unknown means caused the carpet to rise rapidly upwards towards the Zeppelin-catamaran, "I'm sure the Sultan will be most pleased," He continued speaking louder to overcome the rushing air past their ears. "That you have taken the efforts you have to attend!"

In a brief moment, that caused numerous hands to be whitened with the speed of the ascent, they hovered on the Persian rug 10,000 feet in the air, yet only two feet over a gigantic wooden dance floor. Upon which were numerous couples dancing in amazingly fine attire, to a full orchestra playing a waltz. The Butler waved his hand out in a sweeping gesture two his right.

"There are valets and groomsmen there who will rapidly remove any stain of your travels, and assure you have everything you require for the rest of the evening!"

He pointed out a series of leather chairs with chrome arm and foot-rests, attended by a literal army of experts. They began to dismount from the flying carpet, and moved themselves into positions of repose upon them.

In a short a time of a hand-clap, the five were quickly overwhelmed by men who busied themselves removing every trace of grime from their shoes, hats, trousers, jackets, ties, and even handkerchiefs.

"I must say," Said Thursday watching the grime be removed from his garments, and as two men rapidly polished his shoes, "That this worked out better than I had hoped."

"Yeah!" Said Tuesday, undergoing the same treatment, "If only this dance wasn't a waltz, I might be overwhelmed."

And if on a cue, the band stopped playing the waltz, and the dancers clapped in appreciation. Then a clarinet player appeared, and quietly tapped a baton on a sheet-music stand. Then from out of nowhere a drummer began the opening beats of Benny Goodman's Sing Sing Sing began.

"Oh, shit." Said Tuesday, "This is gonna be cool..."

"Well," Friday concluded by standing up and grabbing his jacket from a valet, and throwing it on. "I did try and get you all here, didn't I?"


Happy Friday!

Sometimes the innernets is not oppressive

(Duz anyone know if oppressive's gots two "p's?")

Anywize...there's this too! (Wich mite be NSFW - IF YOU LIVE IN THE 1940'S!)

Sometimes the innernets is oppressive...

Wich is wat I been tryin' to gets outta my head last couple of days.

Then there's something like this.
(see the first pic, then click the pic for the next pic - dig?)

Well Dang!

I just seen this Radiohead video that's shot completely in data. Like, lasers were used, and no cameras. You might not like it, but it's rad that someone decided to use the tech this way. Now watch some of it...and read wat's up below!



Since it's all digital, there really aren't any limits to what you can see as a viewer! You can go right here, and totally manipulate the video in interactive ways that are super astonishing. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if there were some "secret rooms" in this thing...like a video game. If they're aren't, the next big group to come along and do this (I'm lookin' at you, U2) sure as fjuck will.

So sum dude who calls himself Al Gore

decides to call for a 100 percent national (that's U.S.A. to our overseas fjordian visitors) green energy future within the next ten years.

Seriously, is this too much to ask? Actual carbon neutral energy might have other side effects, but there's a ton of shit out there right now that frikken harnesses natural powers with none! (and by that I mean "okey, let's dismantle an obsolete windmill-generating farm!" I mean, ya tear it down and it's sent to China for a small profit on the metal, and it's made into a skyscraper. A nuke plant is literally beaten into the earth and left there for a few thousand years to decompose radioactively. (and seriously that's their plan for the obsolescence of these plants...they burn carbon clean, but it takes a while fer the cleanup.)

Less than a week before (I dunno, this was sometime last week) I found a thing on the front pages of Reddit that asked "Anyone else tired of car companies pretending that 30 mpg is something to get excited about?"
Here's the Reddit thread.

Nobody's joking about it...but it's a pretty serious joke tha's happnin' right now. The Toyota Prius gas/hybrid machine is about to install solar panels on it's next gen version which isn't stupefying, it's fjucking practical when you realize it costs near twice as much for gas as milk, and four times as much as water. (not to mention transportation costs of food&goods&stuff everywhere...which I'm sure you've already noticed.) As I just learned thru a (totally unscientific and cursory google search) the GM Chevy Malibu (which was due out circa '07 - and machines I don't often see toolin' round these car lovin' parts o' Southern Cali - just sayin') was predicted to get (and I frikken quote) "is currently rated by the Environmental Protection Agency at 35 mpg highway and 24 mpg city."

That's supposed to be a stupefyingly amazing engineering achievement? This is what our best minds creating a hybrid gets off of an Imperial Gallon of gasoline? My '96 Accura sedan gets that on nice freeway conditions, and compared to a Prius it looks (and drives) like a bad-assed muscle car!

This WCB correspondent (and by "This" I mean..."Your") is quite convinced it's time for this "call out" to be treated extremely seriously. We can, and should, be the leaders in this technology as it's not just a money making endeavor ,(that-is uber bueno btw) it's that folks across the globe will look to our experts to hire to help them make money fixing the same stupid problem!

'Course, nearly a decade ago I ran a write-in campaign for mayor of Minneapolis on the platform of building a giant dome over the city ('cause the winters is so horrible there...) and it was a big hit on the party-circuit. (which is a really bad voting constituency to go after, since they're too hung-over to bother to vote) However, there were more than enough interested parties to ask how I was going to pay for all of it.

To which I responded, "You build a giant dome over a city and make it work, there are going to be so many people who want your expertise it'll pay a thousand times more than what you spent! Engineers, designers, architects, construction workers - hell - anyone who had anything to do with it, will be some of the most highly employable people on the planet."

"Sure...sounds good," You say, "But the proof is in the puddin', no?" To which I respond,

err, if we were on this eight years ago, would the Kazakhstanians have looked to a(n) UK architect (and whatever construction firms they then decided on for) for THIS!?

Ten years...shit, Kyoto wuz in '97...and the best GM can do in the same time-span is give us a non existent hybrid at 35 mpg? Frikken Kazakhstan' walkin' into the future with more balls than the U.S.A.? Anyhoo - pretty sure Gore's got something here, but he's just a dude with a nice microphone...

Hiya! Err...Aloha!

So looks...

I'm readin' the Fjordian archives as a way to pass teh time betwixt now and the celebrashin of "The Toast Of The Town's" somtink or other birthday tonite...which once again brings up the multi-headed hydra of "birthday row."

*shudders*

"birthday row" is a horribly festive convergence of a series of birthdays (I think there's now six...including mine) which is the yearly party equivalent of having your head struck repeatedly by a full-size cinder block. This now lasts for the next three weeks, and there is no escape. I'm old enough now (97) where I can't really shake off a brutal "party" cinderblock assault and bounce back the next day/week/month. I want to say "no!" But tradition and my own sense of responsibility has purtty much locked me into another beating. So I'll just sign off here, walking proudly into a maelstrom , doffing of my hat and adding a jaunty, "Well, see yas on the other side!"

(This doesn't mean I won't be posting stuff, it just means I probly won't remember doing any of it.)

So there's not much to add... 'cept "Aloha."

-End Transmission-

Happy Friday! (It's from Transigram...where the fun comes from!)

Friday wanted to come out to play tonite, but he was kinda' tired and worn out from doing too many Friday nite things, on nites that weren't Friday. Instead, I present you with "the Swing Wing." Which, I'm sure after you'll watch this short ad, you'll totally want. Mine's already in the mail!

More Painting Elephants!

This time on video!



(Thanx fer the heads up Rhino!)

Soo coooool...

Last time I posted this, it was at the top of the yoo tube search list.

Now there's like five pages of their stuff before it.

No Joke...

Forgot to post this back-in-the-day

You've doubtless seen the cats painting thing, but to me it seemed like the little furballs were more delighted to make marks with their paws than actually trying to create a visual representation of anything.

Irregardless of all that...


here is a picture of a fjucking elephant painting another fjucking elephant.




(actual pic from here)

This is not a cow or a kangaroo, this is a freaking self-aware creature that's communicating something astonishing.

And if you need more proof of their brains, they also like the booze!

(actually, not sure if that's proof of anything, 'cept elephants, like people, do crazy things while drunk...which is funny cause they weigh like two tons and with a little effort could destroy your house)

Exhibit "R"

Not sure why...but What the Fjuck , huh? According to the rules I made up regarding this particular series...there's only nine examples left.

For this post, we present you with another example of the sophisticated behavior of the "Roo."




Yes, it's not clever, nor is it cute! I'm well aware of that! Jeesh...

What you have failed to notice in yer critique of this particular blogpost is that this is "exhibit R!" of the comparison between the relative intelligence between cows and kangaroos. The actual goal is to figure out which one is stupider! (via yoo tube vids, almost mostly.) Anyhoo, I haven't seen anyone else chiming in on this one (sides Rhino) so I'm expectin' all ya alls to just go along with my decision at teh very end, and be able to prooves yerself at the next cocktail party by summoning up these images...I mean exhibits to prooove yer point!

Exhibit "Q"

Ahh, the Roo's are back! This one took a little while to find, and is clearly quite old.

The title is "Kangaroo Kicks Duck." I must say, it does deliver.

Exhibit "P"

Sorry, but this is just a link, with no video...but it's got everything you'd want in a story for "the continuing!"

(I'm putting my faith in the fact the link will last, because the story's too damn big to put up here.)

However, here's a money line...
Mr Stewart, a company director, added: "My family and I stood back and let the emergency services do all the work.

"I don't think they were terribly pleased with us - we stood in the garden with glasses of wine and shouted unhelpful suggestions."

***

It seems the cows are starting to pull ahead in this competition...but I'm still hopeful there will be a few more really stupid roo's who will keep this a real contest!

Exhibit O

Happy Monday!



Ugg!

Just Another Crackpot

"Shhh!" He said, adjusting his hat - it looked like one of those ones you used to make out of newspaper, only it was tinfoil. "They're listening!"
"Who?" I asked, taking the nozzle out of the pump cradle, and sticking it into my car's gas-hole.
"The Government!"
"Really?" I inquired.
"Every single day. Electronically."
"Well," I began, "There certainly are a lot of electronics around." I watched the pump numbers race by at an astounding rate.
"That's why I've thrown 'em all away." He looked back and forth, and then peered suspiciously over the gas pump, creeping out a young woman using (one of the three absolutely free things you can still find in America) the station's dingy squeegee on her car windows. He dropped down in a crouch. "Reducing my digital footprint. I just use the post office for every communication."
"Ahh," I mumbled knowingly, "but the Post office has a device that scans envelope-glue for tongue DNA. That's not at all safe."
"Seriously?" He questioned.
"Sure! And what about a radio, you have one?" I asked.
"What do you mean?"
"It's electronic - probably surveilling you daily. If I were the government, I'd use clocks. They're everywhere! Crap!" I pointed accusingly at his wrist. "You've got a watch!"
"My God!" He said, crouching lower and rapidly unfastening the band around his wrist. He began worriedly scanning about for suspicious characters. His eyes fastened on an old woman getting off the bus, carrying too many shopping bags. "I never even thought of that."
"Sure," I continued, "Lotsa' stuff they probably use...youknow signals are coming out of my cell phone right now, they're probably listening to our conversation as we speak."
"Turn it off! Turn it off!" He cried.
I hated to admit it to myself, but I was enjoying this.
"What good would it do...this gas pump is sending signals going through you right now - it's probably already mapped your brain structure, and is comparing it with the NSA database."
"The gas pumps!" He exclaimed in horror.
"Yep. If not them...well, my ride's too old, but look at these cars here at the station." I nodded towards a new Honda, a Lexus, and a Jetta. "All of them got powerful computers on-board. Heck, probly most are linked to some sort of satellite - OnStar, GPS...why they already know you're exact location, triangulated within millimeters!"
"But on foot - surely I can evade them..." He hissed, trying to keep some logic of his paranoia in check. Meanwhile, I couldn't believe I had already pumped more than forty bucks worth of gas.
"Oh sure..." I began again, Except there are sensors under the street to control the traffic lights - which of course, detect you passing - and relay it to the grid. Oh, and don't ever use the crosswalk activation buttons!"
"Why?!?" He cowered down a little more, which appeared to me to be previously impossible.
"Fingerprint analyzers! And don't even get me started on those things that open the doors for you at the grocery stores!"
"I never even thought of them," his eyes peered up at me in horror. "What," he asked with trepidation, "do they do?"
"Thought-scanners!" I spoke menacingly. "Just make sure you clear your mind of all thoughts before you go through one. Even the slightest idea like, 'I want oranges' will allow them to follow your neurons deep into your memory cells, connecting it with all your impressions about oranges, which in all likelihood will connect up with memories about other fruits, which in turn will lead them to all your memories connected to everything associated with fruit. It goes on and on until they know everything you've ever thought...or they just get bored."
The pump handle automatically clicked, telling me I had filled my tank. I could barely believe it was near fifty bucks. I stuck the nozzle back in its holder, and put the cap on my tank.
"What can we do?" He wondered in a defeated tone.
"Nothin'" I replied, getting into my car. "It's all about volume."
"What do you mean?"
"There's three-hundred million people in America, there's no way anyone can make sense of that much data. And take off that stupid hat, if they're watching you there's no use in looking like a crackpot, as for me, I'd rather look like a model and make 'em want to look-and-be, more like me!"
I shot him a crazy smile, fired up my ride, and drove off slowly. I watched him in the mirror as he stood up straight with a sense of regained dignity and pride. He took off his tinfoil hat, crumpled it into a ball and threw it into the gas-station trashcan, and walked off resolutely facing his omniscient surveillance. My cell rang.
"Yellow!" I spoke happily into the speaker.
"Target acquired!" A happy voice said back to me. "Oh, another tinfoil case at 322 Beasly Ave. howabout getting over there pronto!"
"Okey-doke." I said. "Amazing how a tinfoil hat scrambles our billion dollar junk, huh?"
"Yep." The voice on the other end said. "Crazy how easy you get people to take 'em off."
"Hah! I just tell 'em the truth! Good thing there ain't a company like Starter making tinfoil-lined baseball caps, huh?"
The voice on the other end got serious for a minute.
"Let's not go giving anyone any ideas. Besides, this isn't a secure line."

Cave Paintings...

From someone without a CERTIFICATE OF EXPERTISE IN THE FIELD OF PRE-HISTORIC ARCHEOLOGY - FROM THE FJORDIAN COUNCIL OF SCIENTIFIC INQUIRY, is this awesome article. It's like 8 internet pages long, and pretty dense...but there's some beautiful language in the piece...like this:

"Since recorded history began, around 3200 B.C., with the invention of writing in the Middle East, there have been some two hundred human generations (if one reckons a new one every twenty-five years). Future discoveries may alter the math, but, as it now stands, forty-five hundred generations separate the earliest Homo sapiens from the earliest cave artists, and between the artists and us another fifteen hundred generations have descended the birth canal, learned to walk upright, mastered speech and the use of tools, reached puberty, reproduced, and died."

Or this...
"What emerged with that revelation was an image of Paleolithic artists transmitting their techniques from generation to generation for twenty-five millennia with almost no innovation or revolt. A profound conservatism in art, Curtis notes, is one of the hallmarks of a “classical civilization.” For the conventions of cave painting to have endured four times as long as recorded history, the culture it served, he concludes, must have been “deeply satisfying”—and stable to a degree it is hard for modern humans to imagine."

Pretty rad, no? Anyhoo - just wanted to pass that along fer those intrested. For those who ain't - more cow and roo stupidity comparisons coming!!!

Just a couple quick things to add...

Man found in Wisconsin basement covered in BBQ sauce.

The homeowners say they woke up to whistling sounds. The husband grabbed his shotgun and headed toward the basement where he found the sauced-up intruder. He held him at gunpoint until police arrived.

The guy told officers he had covered himself in barbecue sauce because he wanted to hide from the government.

He now faces burglary charges.

***
And there's this picture...

Stop Looking At My Bottom

Both found over here - my favorite link-blog by far.

I came up with this one yesterday

We've got "the Wolf" from Pulp Fiction, and we've got "the Cleaner" from the Professional,
and now, I give you, "The Mop"

His introduction would be to a group of toughs, which would create general hilarity...

"The Mop!?! What the fuck man...hahaha, why do you have a dumb-assed name like "The Mop?"

And the Mop would be all grim and grab one of the guys by the lapels and get all up in his face, which would cut the frivolity real quick. Plus he's got schmeggy mop-water breath.

"They call me the Mop, because I clean up after little shits like you make a mess."

Oh Noes!

I am shocked, saddened and dismayed that not only did the bad guys capture Steven, but that he escaped - ONLY TO BE RE-CAPTURED!

I really hope things work out for him.



-This was in the bottom of a milk-crate in my laundry room, which I thought was pretty perfectly Hollywood. Some writer/director was trying to get their head around a plot-twist or something, wrote this down, and it fell into a crate full of shit, which they eventually tossed, only this little note survived by virtue of it's sticking-power. I have no illusions that there are far worse notes laying in places about the Casa which are far, far more stupid.



In other pictures, I wanted to post this...because it's about the most patriotic curb I've ever seen!

(so are my toes)

Paging Doctor Kavorkian...paging doctor Kavorkian...

Wow!

Australian Man Gunned Down in Driveway by Killer Robot

The Gold Coast man, who lived alone, left notes of his plans and thoughts as he struggled to come to terms with demands by interstate relatives that he move out his home and into care.
He spent hours searching the Internet for a way to kill himself, downloaded what he needed and then built a complex machine that would remotely fire a gun.

(...)

The machine was attached to a .22 semi-automatic pistol loaded with four bullets.
It was able to fire multiple shots into the man's head after he activated it.

Clamming Up Huh?

I usually write a piece about not writing, and find something to write about in the next fifteen minutes. However, this is not one of those pieces. It's just that sometimes a phrase like, "clamming up" is really fitting for the action, thing or event that it describes. I tend to think that language used to be more colorful - say like in the 30's and 40's. In fact, here's a neat little glossary of hardboiled slang. Have a look and tell me you don't agree. Found via this joint.

Something's in this one

that is strangely endearing to me.

Police said the owner of the dinghy had decided not to press charges, Reuters reports.