2009 — 5 May: Tuesday
Tonight's picture is another from the Meisenheim "Schlossplatz" — though I could have done better with a telephoto, of course. It was back in 1977 during the two-week holiday I used to write a lucrative freelance book for ICL:
And last evening's video entertainment (after I'd finished listening to all the good stuff on the radio) was that nice little picture "Imagine Me & You" from 2006. Christa and I enjoyed this. Oh well. G'night, at 01:05 or so.
That's not funny... is it?
As I've said before, attempts to analyse the nature of humour are rarely funny. From this latest, which is more of a look at links between mental illness and creativity, here's a joke popular among comedians (allegedly):
Heard the one about the man who went to the doctor to get help for his depression? He's told to go and see a show with a well known comedian who would make him laugh and lift his
spirits. "But that's me," says the patient. "I'm the comedian."
The joke, related by Rod Martin, author of 'The Psychology of Humor — An Integrative Approach', is apparently something of a favourite among comedians, who are known to be prone
to depression, from the late Tony Hancock and Spike Milligan, to Stephen Fry and Paul Merton.
The overuse of all those innocent commas introduces a little ambiguity, don't you think? Mind you, I tend more to the link between dull weather and depression myself. It's 08:39 and my cuppa is a great "lift". (Not that it can get me above all the grey clouds knocking around outside at the moment. I feel a gentle toddle into town coming on.)
How on earth (do you suppose) one becomes the "world's leading authority on Vladimir Nabokov"?1 Who decides? (Source.) Brian Boyd is someone to watch for, I think.
There's humour all around, if only you know where to look:
That plural "governments" is a nice touch.
No smoke without (getting) fire(d)? Unbelievable!
A flash of relief:
If you are going to buy expensive lingerie — and frankly, I salute your devotion to washing things by hand if you do — then it should be seen by only the privileged few and not every ogling, drooling idiot who feels he needs to indicate his attraction to you by honking his horn, and I mean that literally as opposed to euphemistically.
Who said satire is dead?
Idly browsing over breakfast...
... and waiting for a defrag to finish, I chortled over this piece from page 163 of a book first published in 1955:
A modern lawyer, instructed to give "counsel's opinion" as to whether or not a partnership or contract should be entered into on the terms of the marriage-tie would unhesitatingly advise against it. He would say, from the point of view of a lawyer and a man of affairs, that the risk was too great; the security too little; the obligations too vague, uncertain, and ill-defined; the consideration insufficient; and the mere verbal covenants not enough.
Says all you need to know about lawyers, if you ask me. So don't get me started on accountants.
14:10 you say? Gosh. Time for lunch.
Later
Heavens, it's 16:43 already. I've just been sent this link to a very funny (some say offensive) cartoon. If doubtful, hover over the link before clicking. Monitus es. (I remember a series of cartoons based around the sad case of a youthful motorcyclist reduced, after an accident, to simple "brain in a jar" status. They had captions like "Dad wants to know... can we throw out the bike?" I still have them somewhere — of course!)
Matthew Parris has just come out, most amusingly, as a Sinatra-hater. Excellent programme.
Ring, ring.
David Mounce.
My name's Lloyd. I'm calling about your Sky installation...
You're calling an unlisted number registered with the Telephone Preference Service, do you really wish to continue?
That's entirely up to you.
Click.
Yikes. Time for tea
It's already 19:18 — where's it all going today? On my little town toddle just before lunchtime, incidentally, I emerged with some more bargains. Here's the wordy stuff:
- Busy woman's slow cooker recipes
Disregarding the sexist title, and the omission of an author's name, it's time I further expanded my crockpot range! - Thank you for the days, by Mark Radcliffe
As I listen to Mark four nights a week (typically), why wouldn't I wish to read about his "adventures" in radio and beyond? - Grumpy old rock star
Rick Wakeman in full anecdotal mode - Sylvia Plath
Poems selected by her husband (though, in truth, I bought the collection just for the amazing "Insomniac") - Your inner fish, by Neil Shubin
Humanity's anatomical evolution revealed via some of our fishier ancestors - Kluge, by Gary Marcus
I noted an interesting review of this back here
I'm happy to learn from Junior that his tonsillitis is on the mend. (Almost exactly 33 years ago to the day, when I was several years younger than he is now, I had my tonsils removed after a series of repeated infections — not my happiest experience.)