I made Alice properly laugh for the first time on Tuesday. She was lying in her chair, and I was burbling nonsense in her face when I started doing baby talk in a Christian-Bale-Batman voice and she burst into a chiming, gurgling laugh, so I did it over and over again until my lungs hurt. Later that evening we were outside, finishing our dinner. Octavia had Alice on her lap, and I ran through various voices at her. When I did the 'Batman' one again, Alice startled so violently that her flailing arm flipped one of the plates off the table. She doesn't laugh at the voice anymore.
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quote:variations of the concept typically involve people escaping situations by copypasting Trollface onto their heads and asking the suspicious or confused individual, "problem?" invariably followed by the aforementioned individual telling him "get the fuck out of here." Unfortunately these offshoots are often written by underage B&, and the result is almost always a heaping pile of unfunny fail
posted
I'm on holiday in Germany and being destroyed. I've had a mosquito invasion That has left me looking like a leper. I wake up and am given litre bottles of beer. I'm going to have to come back to England to relax. Brutal.
quote:Originally posted by New Way Of Decay: I'm on holiday in Germany and being destroyed. I've had a mosquito invasion That has left me looking like a leper. I wake up and am given litre bottles of beer. I'm going to have to come back to England to relax. Brutal.
I told you dude, currywurst makes everything okay, currwurst and a litre stein of luscious dunkel bier, mmmm...
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posted
More usefully... don't forget to double up with paracetamol AND ibuprofen. Both painkillers, both lower the temperature. Not dangerously incompatible. Drink whisky or brandy or similar. It IS a steriliser and disinfectant.
posted
Two people at work have swine flu one of whom I take the train with every day. I have a shitty fever and feel generally crap which sucks as my holiday starts on Wednesday... It'd better be a cold..
-------------------- my own brother a god dam shit sucking vampire!!! you wait till mum finds out buddy!
quote:Originally posted by Darryn.R: Two people at work have swine flu one of whom I take the train with every day. I have a shitty fever and feel generally crap which sucks as my holiday starts on Wednesday... It'd better be a cold..
posted
generic rough.... what I'd call lurgee if I was feeling normal.. not ill enough to stay home but crap enough to feel slight worry... And Femke's got a touch of it too.. I'm calling it a summer cold, and if it doesn't stay that way I'm kicking it's Mexican ass all the way to Acapulco de Juárez
-------------------- my own brother a god dam shit sucking vampire!!! you wait till mum finds out buddy!
posted
Well, if you go all the way to Mexico, you should stop by and say hello! Since you know, youd be on my side of the pond...
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posted
I'm going to shamelessly paste something in from my blog. Apologies for the laziness but I know some people here enjoy stories of me humiliating myself.
++++++++++++++++++++++++
A famous historian slash political writer, who I'll call ST, just arrived in the office to pick up a manuscript. Should have been a relatively simple procedure - it had been left by the door because, I think, no-one wanted to get into a conversation with him. It didn't really work out like that, though. As I was handing him his book our Sales manager came in to the room to introduce himself. Turns out they knew each other, blah. While they were chatting, the owner of our publishing house came along to say hello. So somehow a crowd had formed, without me really knowing how.
The presence my boss sent ST into an extended rant about how difficult he had found it getting his most recent book published. I had a vague idea that this was exactly the kind of thing you shouldn't do with a publisher, but maybe ST is prestigious enough that he can get away with it. He went on about how publishers can't deal with complex, intelligent books, how they only publish books that fit a market (not true - as marketing manager I weep at least once a day as I try and work out who the hell the editors thought would buy our books).
His rant built up to a splendid rhetorical question - you know the kind. It's when someone gives a big speech or a rant and underline it with some irrefutable piece of evidence, or some example which makes their point beautifully. An "... all addressed to Santa Claus!" type moment. He said
"I offered it to Harper Collins, and you know why they turned it down? They said 'Who Goes to Burma?'"
So there was a silence as the sales manager, my boss and I, mulled this over. Except, I said,
"Rambo?"
Further silence, as my boss, the sales manager, and ST all stared at me, forcing me to explain with a shrug "In the fourth Rambo film, he goes to Burma."
Somehow, it's obvious that even knowing there is a fourth Rambo film marks me out as some kind of braindead halfwit. At one point in my life I had an idea that I was kind of - you know - intelligent. That I was right up there at the top. But apparently I'm a fucking cretin who brings up Rambo Part fucking Four in a conversation with a political activist bemoaning the difficulty he had publishing a book dissecting the human rights tragedies in Burma.
At this point I could mount some kind of defence about how it was a sideways glance at the supposed markebility of Burma, and if a Hollywood action movie - the crassest of all marketing driven commodities with the possible exception of cigarettes - can squeeze an audience out of the situation in Burma, then maybe that wasn't the problem with his book and he should shut the hell up.
But it wasn't. Basically, all I know about Burma I learnt from Rambo IV. At least I didn't offer to lend ST the DVD, although he should see it if he's interested in Burma, because it kicks fucking arse.
posted
Yeah, it made me cry too. Sometimes I think I may as well just admit that I haven't got a brain, and stop trying to operate on the same levels as clever people.
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quote:Originally posted by Thorn Davis: I'm going to shamelessly paste something in from my blog. Apologies for the laziness but I know some people here enjoy stories of me humiliating myself.
++++++++++++++++++++++++
A famous historian slash political writer, who I'll call ST, just arrived in the office to pick up a manuscript. Should have been a relatively simple procedure - it had been left by the door because, I think, no-one wanted to get into a conversation with him. It didn't really work out like that, though. As I was handing him his book our Sales manager came in to the room to introduce himself. Turns out they knew each other, blah. While they were chatting, the owner of our publishing house came along to say hello. So somehow a crowd had formed, without me really knowing how.
The presence my boss sent ST into an extended rant about how difficult he had found it getting his most recent book published. I had a vague idea that this was exactly the kind of thing you shouldn't do with a publisher, but maybe ST is prestigious enough that he can get away with it. He went on about how publishers can't deal with complex, intelligent books, how they only publish books that fit a market (not true - as marketing manager I weep at least once a day as I try and work out who the hell the editors thought would buy our books).
His rant built up to a splendid rhetorical question - you know the kind. It's when someone gives a big speech or a rant and underline it with some irrefutable piece of evidence, or some example which makes their point beautifully. An "... all addressed to Santa Claus!" type moment. He said
"I offered it to Harper Collins, and you know why they turned it down? They said 'Who Goes to Burma?'"
So there was a silence as the sales manager, my boss and I, mulled this over. Except, I said,
"Rambo?"
Further silence, as my boss, the sales manager, and ST all stared at me, forcing me to explain with a shrug "In the fourth Rambo film, he goes to Burma."
Somehow, it's obvious that even knowing there is a fourth Rambo film marks me out as some kind of braindead halfwit. At one point in my life I had an idea that I was kind of - you know - intelligent. That I was right up there at the top. But apparently I'm a fucking cretin who brings up Rambo Part fucking Four in a conversation with a political activist bemoaning the difficulty he had publishing a book dissecting the human rights tragedies in Burma.
At this point I could mount some kind of defence about how it was a sideways glance at the supposed markebility of Burma, and if a Hollywood action movie - the crassest of all marketing driven commodities with the possible exception of cigarettes - can squeeze an audience out of the situation in Burma, then maybe that wasn't the problem with his book and he should shut the hell up.
But it wasn't. Basically, all I know about Burma I learnt from Rambo IV. At least I didn't offer to lend ST the DVD, although he should see it if he's interested in Burma, because it kicks fucking arse.
I have a friend who recently made a political poster at design college for the National League for Democracy in Burma and whilst Pia couldn't recognise the design work, I suddenly remembered this post.
Also, I have been asked to interview with Harper-Collins on Wednesday. Should I go?
[ 22.11.2009, 14:32: Message edited by: New Way Of Decay ]
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