Some things are just too heartbreaking for comment: the works of Samuel Beckett; loldedz; the Abandoned Couch Blog; the singleton dilemma
the marital prospects of a human-identified female Archyteuthis Squid.
Some things are just too heartbreaking for comment: the works of Samuel Beckett; loldedz; the Abandoned Couch Blog; the singleton dilemma
the marital prospects of a human-identified female Archyteuthis Squid.
For several months now, all the world, or at least, all the world that can afford New York theatre tickets, has been eagerly looking forward to the Broadway debut of Harry Potter’s wand. We at the ol’ raincoaster blog have not failed to cover the blow-by-blow as Daniel Radcliffe and his Nethers of Strange Hirsutity have triumphed in London in Peter Schaffer‘s intense psychodrama Equus, but as the day approaches when all (and we do mean ALL) will be revealed to the notoriously insatiable, cellphone-camera-equipped American audiences, Radcliffe‘s handlers are getting nervous. They fear his peen may fall into the wrong, presumably sweaty, hands.
Says the star, on the possibility of his privates being made public via a quickie Flickr: “It will be amazing but I will be terrified!” And no doubt so will some of the more shrinking violets in the audience, from what we hear!
Just how amazing it will be, fans who cannot affort the high price to share his physical presence may never know. His handlers have taken every precaution to prevent leaks, going so far as to equip the theatre with infra-red defenses, like in that capoeria laser dance scene in Ocean’s Twelve, you know the one, to sniff out and, presumably, stun or even vaporize overzealous cellphotogs. Who knows?
Cool.
His personal security has been increased as well, and let me tell you, these people do not mess around.

Image sources: Uli Weber, Hollywood Standups, hat-tip With-Malice
article hat-tip to dissfunktional
Another too-true toon from Married to the Sea. And I just noticed you can order PRINTS! Birthday coming up…
In related news, this sad tale.
One chair all day.
It’s rare indeed to find someone whose fascination with the phenomenon of fame exceeds my own storied obsession, but I have indeed located one such sick and deluded soul, and his name is Toby Young. And here is the smartest thing he has to say on the subject, shamelessly stolen from his book The Sound of No Hands Clapping(oh, but before we get to that: when his book launch was broken up by a lubricated brawl of some degree of violence and spectacularity his pregnant wife tried to break up the fight, but he stopped her, saying, “Are you crazy? This is fabulous publicity!”):
There are so many different varieties of fame these days we need to develop a whole new vocabulary to describe them. At the moment, the best we can do is to rank celebrities according to whether they’re A-list, B-list, etc. But even if we use every letter of the alphabet that still only gives us 26 different types. That’s surely not enough. Eskimos have 47 different words for snow. Shouldn’t we have 47 words for celebrity?
Selah.