I really can’t say why (especially after this many festive Martinis) but this picture resonates with me and reminds me of Cartier Bresson’s Decisive Moment, although there is nothing decisive about this whatsoever, which is in and of itself in fact and in actuality very, very West Coast indeed.
Space Needle Seattle in Snow
Well, what would you call them? Pussy purses? Persian sacks (they ARE pretty hairy). A loathesomely miss-shapen by-product of the unhealthy tendency among the narcissistic childless towards cloying anthropomorphism and blithe possessiveness?
Or you might call them “cute.” In which case I don’t even want to KNOW you.
from fourfour
William Shatner sings to whales.
Don’t ask me. I just blog this stuff.
So, is that what you call a podcast?
It’s Santa vs the Babby Jeebus in the fight of the … duplennium? Sumthin’ anyway.
The world watched in horror today as a frustrated reporter chucked a shoe at US President George W. Bush, narrowly missing. He should have known you don’t grow up in a house run by Barbara Bush without being able to duck lightning-quick. Indeed, ducking is probably his greatest skill.
Here’s the shocking video footage:
via Greg Fenton of Nexj which I shamefully admit I don’t know how to pronounce.
Phen-tun?
raincoaster 