Photo I Like Uncategorized

‘Til Death Do Us Part

I’ve long been fixated on the idea of ending up in a coffee can somewhere–if I don’t succumb to dementia, in which case I’ve instructed some reliable folks just which corner of the Grand Staircase I’d like to be left in, to dry up and fade away.  Ashes, or dessicated skin cured dark and stretched over bone, or sustenance for beasts, all seem like good enough finishes– but I have to admit, this might be just be tempting enough to the silly romantic inside of me to consider an as earthy alternative….


Photo nabbed from Pinterest, via twitter, via a couple of other pages but it seems to it’s a shot from a cemetery in Nong Khai in Northeast Thailand, orginated by Peter Kelly Studios.

Commentary Funny and/or Strange

Fishing Story


Another joke told to me recently–don’t worry, this won’t become a habit.

Four friends spend weeks planning the perfect backwoods camping and
fishing trip.

Two days before the group is to leave Frank’s wife puts her foot down
and tells him he isn’t going.

Frank’s friends are very upset that he can’t go, but what can they do?

Two days later the three get to the camping site only to find Frank
sitting there with a tent set up, firewood gathered, and fish cooking on
the fire.

11“Damn man, how long you been here and how did you talk your wife into
letting you go?”

“Well, I’ve been here since yesterday. Yesterday evening I was sitting
in my chair and my wife came up behind me and put her hands over my eyes
and said ‘guess who’?” I pulled her hands off and she was wearing a brand new see-through nightie.

“She took my hand and took me to our bedroom. The room had two dozen
candles and rose petals all over. She had on the bed, handcuffs and
ropes! She told me to tie and cuff her to the bed and I did. And then
she said ‘do what ever you want.’

“So, here I am.”


Random Internet Photo: It’s The Weekend!

I wish I’d had this one for Valentine’s Day, but I’m too impatient to wait 8 more months.

And here’s a tip–this is the sort of greeting every man would like to receive when he walks into the bedroom.










Some notes on these photographs:

  • This blog is for personal entertainment, not commercial reasons. I derive no income from this site.  Not a penny.  
  • The pictures in this feature are obviously not mine, and I have made no effort to secure the rights–I’ve found most of them on places like Tumblr and Pinterest, and it’s nigh impossible to find out the original sources.  I posted them because I like and enjoy them.  If any of these are yours, let me know and I can add an attribution–I certainly hope my posting has added a little fame or promotion to your name–or I can remove them, as appropriate.  Thanks!
  • I’m a man–with blustery, testosterone-stained, primitive, often immature, and generally not-fit-for-company tastes and preferences.  I like flowers and mountains and little baby animals, but I also like pictures of beautiful women, old motorcycles, stupid trucks, and so forth.  If the photo most appealing to me from a particular search is a bikini-chick in high heels riding an old Indian motorcycle, I’m going to go with it and welcome a dialogue re: my neanderthal sensitivities and the relevant socio-political implications of my actions. Just saying.
  • Likewise, it is highly unlikely that there will be an equitable inclusion of oiled-up muscular hunks to balance out any typical man stuff that appears in this feature.


Commentary Uncategorized

Love Actually–10th Anniversary


Some good friends came over last night to join us in some delicious imperial stout (Thanks, Jarrod!) and our annual watching of Love Actually, the Christmas movie that most of us love and lots of us love to hate–a fairly successful situation for a movie that, while it uses Christmas as it’s framework is, as the title suggests, a movie about love in it’s myriad forms and configurations.  It’s clear why I enjoy this film: I’m a sentimental sap, a sucker for pulled heartstrings–and this movie yanks on them by the dozens. love-actually-21 I have to admit that I’m a bit surprised by the depths of antipathy that some other people project on this film, and even I have to admit that it’s more than the usual, toxic broth of cynicism, arrogance, ignorance and stupidity.  A lot of the critics seem relatively intelligent.  I’m not going to go too far into this, when it’s expressed so eloquently here:

Utter bullshit, of course.  The title’s hyperbole speaks for itself: I’m pretty sure Love Actually is NOT the least romantic film of all time.  “I Spit On Your Grave” and Mel Gibson’s Jesus Torture-fest come to mind.

After that, lets put on our Ad Hominem for a moment and wonder aloud what kind of moron confuses the convention of romance with the emotion of love.  Romance is a mood, love is a yDbKt3Cfeeling. Romance is an ideal.  Love is, well, often far less than ideal–which is far often the best kind of love.  Got it?  This movie is about Love, actually. (get it? couldn’t resist).  But I’m not the hero of this story.  Another writer at The Atlantic took up the sword/pen and defended our noble movie with a patience and depth I couldn’t be bothered to find.  Emma Green, you are the hero of the moment

I wrote this elsewhere, but it pales next to Ms. Green’s black belt defense:

tumblr_l0vlx6hPUZ1qbrf8eo1_500It was Mao who said “kill all the intellectuals, right?” I am relatively confident that Christopher Orr, were he to attempt an improvement, would pen the most absolutely boring film ever made. The sheer audacity of servicing nine “love” stories–and this story is about love, not romance–requires a certain level of imagination that most of what is happening with these people is happening between the cuts–while the camera is focused on the other couples. Laura Linney and her beau, for example, are shown at the end of a long evening date, so contrary to their relationship being purely physical they’ve had time alone together, plus five years of workiing together and a shared mutual attraction–but the kicker is that the love story isn’t theirs; Linney’s character’s story is the love for her brother, the sacrifices she makes in her own life for him.

I’d argue that Firth’s character doesn’t fall in love when he sees his crush in her underwear, it’s clearly been building over their time together and is only fully realized when they jump into the cold, eel-infested pond and separately realize neither ended up there for practical reasons, but out of their growing affection.

As for the PM and the foul-mouthed staffer–I’m sure I’m not the only one who met someone, out of the blue, who just stunned them like a cannon shot to the sternum from the very first moment. It happened to me some article-2277496-0073BC7300000258-625_634x416time ago, and I recognized it as something weird and cool and magical and the kind of thing that is best left alone. I met a woman some years ago and quite unexpectedly found myself in a stammering, ridiculous fit of adolescent awkwardness even though I was well ensconced in a relationship with a fine woman who happened to be standing about 4 feet away at the time; for days afterwards my thoughts turned constantly to this young woman–in my circumstance, it manifested as intense curiosity, but had I been single (she was) I know, with complete certainty, that I would have been punted ass-over-teacups into a full-blown drive-past-her-house-repeatedly crush. I pity the critic for never having experienced this, nor even having the capacity to imagine such a powerful feeling.

I proud  to admit that I’m one of the people who loves the crap out of this film–and yes, Bill Nighy is a major reason why. But I like it all. I like the stupid vanity/foolishness/delusions of the Alan Rickman character, the tone-perfect reaction to his selfishness from Emma Thompson’s character. I read this Christopher Orr article and what I realized was that’s it’s little more than a snobbish, verbose confession that the guy just didn’t get it. He’s virtually shouting it: “I missed the point completely! I just didn’t get it all! I’m obtuse as a moose! As dense as a dirty diaper! But boy can I show off my book-learnin’.” There’s also the possibility that Mr. Orr just never really felt or understood love, but that’s too sad to consider.