One morning last May, I stumbled into the kitchen, past the back door, stopped, backed up, and gazed through the glass. In the backyard staring at me, was a visitor. Then my son Joey, walking with his eyes closed, strolled into my back.
“What are you looking at?” He asked.
“We have a friend in the backyard,” I said.
Our visitor was a rabbit. He sat there staring at us, nibbling on grass, as patient as the dew.
“Hey Bunny,” said Joey. “Can I have pancakes for breakfast?”
Now, I know that the world can be dull and commonplace, so I have taken it upon myself to add some wonder and high adventure wherever possible, so that my son does not take for granted the thousand little miracles we see every day. I decided to provide our lupine guest with a more personal history.
“You know who that is?” I asked. “That may just be a rabbit, or it might be Swamp Bunny.”
Daffy Duck and Robin Williams will never die, not really…
Robin Williams died yesterday, and when I heard the news I immediately thought of this collection of Daffy Duck toys I keep in an old-fashioned hanging bird cage in my basement. I have kept these toys in this way for years, collecting dust in a dark room, locked away like the picture of Dorian Gray.
It’s like I have collected iconographic bits of my own particular madness and put them in a teeny jail, though I have always thought of it as a shrine to Daffy, my God of Insanity.
While this book is indeed about venery, it’s the second definition at the link that fits Lipton’s work, not the first. Certainly there’s indulgence bordering on the decadent, but it’s overwhelmingly of the mental rather than physical sort – though for those of you whose minds drift in those directions, there’s enough titillation to make even the flashing of wit that pervades this work – an excitement of thinkers.
Venery, for those who have refused to hypertext, in that second definition means “animals that are hunted; game.” The derivation of the word is given as follows:
Middle English venerie, from Anglo-French, from Old French vener to hunt, from Latin venari — more at venison. First Known Use: 14th century
Christie…questioned the “quality of life” in Colorado, questioning why people would want to live in a state where “there’s head shops popping up on every corner and people flying into your airport just to come and get high.”
…”For the people who are enamored with the idea with the income, the tax revenue from this, go to Colorado and see if you want to live there,” the Republican said.
Speculative journalism and Quantum Mechanics provide us all with a vision for a better life.
The other day I was lamenting to one of my online sports groups that the place would be a lot more fun if we had a couple of vocal Manchester United supporters on board. Normally I don’t long for the company of muppets, but this year is special for us Manc haters. See, the once-mighty Red Devils, having seen legendary manager Sir Alex Ferguson retire over the summer, find themselves in a really disappointing mess under new head man David Moyes. Disappointing for United fans, that is – the rest of the world can’t stop laughing.
Manchester’s supporters have gotten accustomed to winning, and not winning isn’t settling well. As sports fans everywhere know, few things on Earth are bitchier and whinier and altogether more entertaining than the entitled backers of a dynasty run aground. Hence my longing for the wailing of Mancs on the list. (The place hasn’t been totally unrewarding, I should note. We do have a couple of Arsenal fans, and they’re generally easy enough to stir up, especially after a 6-0 pasting at the hands of my beloved Chelsea.)
I had an idea for a sci-fi movie. Basically, it was about an alternate universe where humans evolved exactly the way we did here, except that our noses were upside down and we went extinct when somebody invented the shower. Continue reading →
I got a nice note from a woman earlier today on OK Cupid. She thought I looked interesting and wanted to take a shot, although she wasn’t 100% clear on what I meant with my answer to one question. There’s a section at the bottom of the profile where you have to fill this out. Continue reading →
It started innocently enough, as these things often do, with our boy Dan Ryan on Facebook wishing there was a video of the gopher from Caddyshack dancing to “Water of Love” by Dire Straits. Which, turns out, is actually a thing. That caused me, for some odd reason, to wonder what the movie would have been like if David Lynch had directed.
Then Jim Booth got involved, and it was all downhill from there.
So here it is, our best guess as to how Lynch would have cast the film, along with some plausible plot twists. Continue reading →
Red McCombs, a noted football expert, is right. Strong doesn’t, you know, “belong.” Also, he’s a socialist fascist Satanist.
Charlie Strong and his white wife.
This week Texas AD Steve Patterson stunned college athletics by announcing the hire of Charlie Strong as coach at the University of Texas, replacing legend Mack Brown. Most pundits had argued the influential boosters of the Texas program would not allow a candidate of color to be named to the position. Now one of those, “megabooster” Red McCombs, has come forward criticizing the hire.
Despite Strong’s record as a coach, 37-15, three bowl wins in four years and two top 15 finishes in the polls, McCombs said that “Charlie” would be a fine position coach or coordinator, but was simply not up to the Texas job.
Here are the top seven reasons Charlie Strong should not be coach at Texas. Continue reading →