Yup, it's that time of week again. Here goes:
:: Are we all hardwired to be idol worshippers? (Nope, I don't worship any idols. Nosiree Bob, not me! But that's not what she's talking about, anyway.)
:: Occasionally on my sandy walks I come across some remarkable man-made items. (Provisionally a very nice blog, by a composer who offers listening samples of her work. I haven't listened to any of them yet, but I will. Via ACD.)
:: I feel myself getting stupider every time I read that line, but the good news is that I have a long way to go before I would be actually stupid enough to say that line myself. (Maybe someday I'll inflict my own Star Wars fanfic upon the world. Ye Gods, what a disaster that would make -- I'd most certainly be banished to some sector of Blogistan frequented by old and dyslexic guys who keep trying to visit Polarwine and LFG.)
:: Trying to posthumously enlist Heinlein (or any dead author for that matter) in some modern political cause strikes me as a dubious enterprise.
:: So, I guess if men want to get it up, happily, they need to not keep us down. (Wow!)
:: I've nibbled on A; I've squished B; I've cavorted with C; but my favourite remains D. (This one might not be safe for work.)
:: How can you tell when the national immigration debate has reached saturation point and seeped too deeply into the public's consciousness? When your wife starts having dreams about it.
:: Is every Republican in Washington the emotional age of seven? (Oh, for the love of God. This shit cannot be for real.)
:: The SS Great Britain is cleverly designed to bring as much comfort to its passengers and crew members as possible. (This is part of a series of posts. Look at the photos; fascinating stuff!)
:: Set up an account and you’re automatically admitted to the futurismic bowels of the Monkey. (All together, now: "The filthy monkey, it plans!")
Enough for now. Tune in next week. And tomorrow. And...well, you know.