The title above was an actual headline in The Times of London when Michael Foot became the head of a nuclear weaponry panel.
Isn’t it sad how Cyber Monday got so commercialized?
The thin shell of snow this morning shocked us. We had just bought a good snow blower. When we last did that, it didn’t snow for a year.
One small part of the Borough of Manhattan (different entity but same territory as New York County) is on the North American Mainland: the Marble Hill neighborhood surrounded by the Bronx.
Is it truth or myth that the name Bronx originated from the Bronk family’s having owned large tracts of land in the area, so it became known as “the Bronks’.” We can’t be troubled to Google it or Snopes it, but the name sounds Dutch, like Dave van Bronk.
Moomins. In the children's tales of Tove Jansson, Moomins were a race of small, shy, fat, hibernating creatures inhabiting the forests of Finland. Jansson received the Hans Christian Andersen award in 1966 for contributions to children’s literature, but starting in 1968, she wrote six novels and five books of short stories for adults. Jansson’s sigoth was Tuulikki Pietilä. The Irish form of “Jannson” is “McKeon.”
Words of comfort to raconteurs: “If some of your jokes don’t bomb, you’re not taking enough chances.”
Chuck Norris can sit in the corner of a round room.
Doesn’t “Take The A Train” have too many articles? Shouldn’t it be either “Take A Train” or “Take The Train”?
“Photographers — idiots, of which there are so many — say, ‘Oh, if only I had a Nikon or a Leica, I could make great photographs.’ That’s the dumbest thing I ever heard in my life. [Great photographs are] nothing but a matter of seeing, and thinking, and interest.” --Andrea Feininger
“At a certain point in a drunk’s career it does not matter all that much whether he’s actually been drinking -- that’s just the way he is.” --David Foster Wallace
“[O]ur greatest laws are hidden, our greatest wisdom is authorless, and our most valuable treasures are in our hearts.” --Name withheld by request
“I don’t get no respect in my apartment building. The super told me to wipe my feet in my apartment before I go out into the hall.” --Rodney Dangerfield
“On the contrary!” These were Henrik Ibsen’s last words. His wife had just remarked that he seemed much improved, and would be quite well again. Ibsen sat up in bed and objected, as it turned out, with no little justification.
“MRCA” stands for “most recent common ancestor.” Try looking at everyone you meet today and speculating on the date of birth of your MRCA. Demographics can be counter-intuitive. For example, almost everyone of Northern European stock is a direct descendant of Charlemagne.
Speaking of Charlemagne, December 25 is the 1213th anniversary of his coronation as the first Holy Roman Emperor. That is, if Christmas was celebrated on December 25 in A.D. 800.
It’s a cosmopolitan world. Legal documents in international trade are sporting references to the “Gregorian calendar.” For the avoidance of doubt, no doubt.
Comeback to bad pickup line: “I’m sure the police consider you a person of interest, but I don’t.” Implied threat? Mailed fist inside velvet glove?
This line from The Who’s 1967 “I’m a Boy” is metrically perfect. It sounds like a series of nails, each hammered down with a single blow: “My name is Bill and I’m a headcase.”
Follow your bliss for a week and find out if it’s two-timing you.
The Christmas carol for persons with paranoia is Santa Claus is Coming to Town to Get Us.
Schizophrenia: Do You Hear What I Hear?
Alzheimer’s: Walking in a Winter Wonderland, Miles From My House, in My Robe and Slippers
Social Anxiety Disorder: Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas While I Sit Here and Hyperventilate
We asked Woody Allen how how his 25 years of psychotherapy was going. He said, “Slowly.”
If drones are going to make home deliveries, can they also do our shopping? Can you imagine drones duking it out at Filene’s Basement?
If it’s an “exaltation” of larks, a “pride” of lions, a “murder” of crows, what’s a group of drones? Put your nominations into a comment.
With climate change, New Englanders don’t have to move to Florida anymore. Just stay alive, and Florida will come to you.