This is depressingamundo
http://www.theglobeandmail.com/life/health/womens-genital-self-esteem-affects-sex-health/article1306039/
The next question has to be how many blokes enjoy getting the prostate examined? And whether this has any link to suffering penis envy?
Gals/fellas/world give over bemoaning the jammie. It’s dandy.
How useful, how very very useful. A step towards solving the dilemma slightly of not having a library card to access university libraries and always having to lumber out and sit there to access material. The public library is excellent on many fronts, but there’s often obscure stuff they cannot house and the wait to access it on interlibrary loan can be inconvenient. Or if you live half way up a mountain and your donkey refuses to budge and bring you into town.
Now if only there could be a way around the cost prohibitive accessing the databases of articles…from the front room or corner cafe.
Then there is the additional bonus of discourse outside the institutional walls.
Aaaaaagh muy excellent. http://a.aaaarg.org/
Fresh from the jaws of the cutting-edge linguistic Puffin. Youff vernacular.
To have the piss.
x’s parents have the piss at Nerf guns
I’d heard take the piss, being pissed, take a piss, I’d added the West Coast: So pissed at something, but this new one to have the piss completes the pissible lexicon nicely. Especially the idea of containment given it’s liquid state.
Terrorising courtesy of 1970’s elementary education.
How to scare a tellyless ten year old witless! We had to watch an episode of this show The Tripods based on John Christopher’s novels each week and it explains why I have a resting pulse of 99 today.
The titles and music alone sent me into a frenzy
Then the actual programme sweet Jesus! Terrifying.
Many a day I walked about with my hand at the ready to cover my head in the event of a capping attack. Whatever happened to jolly olde Paddington and Seasame Street, big yellow bird, feathery friend … rather than stomping metal blighters trying to cap the brains outta ya.
Can’t escape him even in mid-life. Whoever pressed this to vinyl provided me with many a demented endurance.
http://www.rte.ie/rnag/cuairtanphapa.html
Popedom improves when incomprehensible. I used to be amazed he didn’t crack his teeth, all that kissing the ground. He certainly did not have a malocclusion of either mandible.
C’est formidable!
http://ubu.artmob.ca/sound/broodthaers_marcel/Broodthaers-Marcel_Interview-With-A-Cat.mp3
Ah the Nellie. We go back someways. Pink, pink, pink. Half dazed clubbers emerging into the sunrise. A place everyone’s an opinion on. http://www.lrb.co.uk/blog/2009/09/23/rosemary-hill/white-elephant/
A while ago, back in the day, when I was trying to find social anthropology about Irish immigrants in urban settings in the recent past (ie 60’s) I found nada. Song was suggested to me, and I can’t recall pursuing it so heartily.
Today I came across Christy Moore’s Cricklewood and was struck by how this could be the closest thing we have to a form of urban anthropology.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NyNci5Xnd3c Christy Moore Paddy on the road
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8oqBEO4I-kk Christy Moore Don’t forget your shovel
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8hqAipVohbM Christy Moore Cricklewood (it’s really only the verse about getting a sub)
Children exhist at the coal face of language and bring it’s evolution home to the grubby kitchen table. Some of my favourites include the verb: to pone which evolves into ponnage and poner and poned.
It’s meaning: to claim victory at the tether ball pole. Evolved from to own. I owned you= I beat you. I poned him = I beat him. Poner! Ponnage! General victory battle cry.
In gratitude for these auditory treats I have found some suitable mammy – son van music.
I recall the abyss of enduring Terry Wogan of Radio 2 extraction as a child. Auditory equiv of a very severe toothache.
Incredible news author Helen Potrebenko has won Gold medal in Olympics type event. Now join the resurrgence of interest in her unique novel Taxi! by pledging your feet and buying a copy. Visit http://haveyoureadtaxi.blogspot.com/ for all details including excellent picture of gold medal.
Pls join us for the revolution. The tea is going to be good. The last time I mentioned a teabag I got 838 readers. The only time I got 838 readers I hasten to add. Usually I have three readers. Thank you you three.
Was thinking today of van music. There was a comedian in Dublin who used to do a musical skit on Christy Moore’s Lisdoonvarna called “Back of the van.” I must trek for Christy tunes.
Found it! Woodie rather than Christy The Puffin used to listen to this when he was three.
The van still has the attractive orange light on, but has conceeded to start, so I am enjoying driving only the country roads in the city. i.e anything with a speed bump since no other person in their right mind wants to drive along them and I have them all to myself.
Met a mechanic in a lift today and between the two floors he told me how he fell in love with the world.
Another young fella helped me at the petrol pump because I was too short to see it and to be honest couldn’t recall how the petrol pump worked in relation to the hole in the side of the van and my hair kept getting in front of my glasses and the great thing about driving again is I have to wear my glasses and so the entire world looks just a bit different. Mobility compacts time and geography.
Van has a cassette player — isn’t this a very good sign?
Apparently the more mechanical male in my life assures me the emergency brake is not working.
It’s time again as storm watching and free thinking season approaches to rebonjour the blogola.
I have acquired, after some trepidation and rather a Sopranos style transaction, a van designed for the purpose of following the wind.
Unfortunately as is usually the case in my impulsive moments. I sat in the said van not 5 minutes later and a peculiar orange light flashed, saying Check Engine. Followed by a gross outburst of spluttering and let’s just say the wind will need to be got back up the van before the van may safely follow the wind.
I am considering venturing under the bonnet and may acquire an education to this end.
Needless to say the transaction took place under the umbrella of it’s my ninety year old mother’s car.
Me well I am a mother, so if you’re lying you won’t go to heaven.
A small investigation by the Puffin produced numerous Hello Kitty toys stashed in the armrest.
