Question for readers...

So has the world ended yet?

I'm not sure, and no-one has called to tell me if it has.

But if the world did end, I guess no-one would be there to call and tell me.

So if the world does end, how will I know?

And do I still have to come in to work?

Man, I'm confused.

Comments

Sue said…

I am so sick of hearing about this. Today at school...there were heaps of kids who were freaked out believing it was going to happen! I just said to them that some fairly clever people were conducting these test and I am sure that they were smart enough to know that they were not going to cause the end of the world by doing them. When that did not satisfy them...I just told them the tests had been done and NOTHING had happened and then they were happy! Some people will believe anything!

10 September 2008 at 17:10

USelaine said…

Something the matter? Guess not.

10 September 2008 at 18:40

Julie said…

Golly that team leader, Lyn Evans, is all spunk: "There it is!", he said. Reminds me of when Dame Joan returned to sing in the new Opera House and the announcer (quaint term, yes? The ABC only had announcers in those days), John West, said "She enters. She sings." I was so excited by that I forgot to listen to her warble ...

10 September 2008 at 21:45

Anonymous said…

What, Kris, you haven't been sucked into the black hole yet?! Didn't you hear a thing that went bang in the night?

Did you ever read Bernard Malamud's _God's Grace_?

Don't tell anyone, but... Here in my secluded quiet village in the hills sometimes I wake up in the morning and if I miss the hourly newscast, I think, gee, the world could have ended overnight and I'd never know it. :)

10 September 2008 at 22:19

If you want to be loved, be lovable.

Henry admires the view.

Ah, Joe, you never knew the whole of it...

I still have the robot on the job. Here you can see the Tasmanian Museum and Art Gallery . And here is a poem: Soliloquy for One Dead Bruce Dawe Ah, no, Joe, you never knew the whole of it, the whistling which is only the wind in the chimney's smoking belly, the footsteps on the muddy path that are always somebody else's. I think of your limbs down there, softly becoming mineral, the life of grasses, and the old love of you thrusts the tears up into my eyes, with the family aware and looking everywhere else. Sometimes when summer is over the land, when the heat quickens the deaf timbers, and birds are thick in the plumbs again, my heart sickens, Joe, calling for the water of your voice and the gone agony of your nearness. I try hard to forget, saying: If God wills, it must be so, because of His goodness, because- but the grasshopper memory leaps in the long thicket, knowing no ease. Ah, Joe, you never knew the whole of it... I like Bruce Dawe. He just my be my favourite Austral

Zeal, n. A certain nervous disorder afflicting the young and inexperienced. A passion that goeth before a sprawl.

Here I have tried my hand at the homemade sepia-toned photo. I wasn’t happy with the way that the sun had washed out some of the colours in the original, so had a bit of a fiddle because I like the look on Henry’s face, and didn’t want to pass on posting it. I have a tip for those of you burdened with the great, unceasing weight of parenthood. I have a new recipe, in the vein of the quick microwaved chocolate cake . Get this, microwaved potato chips . I gave them a run on Sunday, Henry liked the so much I did it again last night. Tonight, I shall be experimenting with sweet potato. I think that the ground is open for me to exploit opportunities in the swede, turnip, carrot and maybe even explore in the area of pumpkins. Radical, I know. I’m a boundary-pusher by nature. It's pretty simple, take the potato. Slice it thinly (it doesn't have to be too thin, but thin enough). Lay the slices on the microwave plate, whack a bit of salt over the top and nuke the buggers for five minut

This will hurt me...

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