A man who pretends to understand women is bad manners. For him to really to understand them is bad morals.

The Internet is a wonderful place filled with the rich and varied treasures of the world holds (if you read this, can you let me know?) The following are some things that I've had a look at in the last week. I call this: a Compendium of Click-throughs for Monday Morning..

Busting a medical myth: shaved hair grows back faster and thicker. Bonus? It was written by Dr Michael Vagg!
A really interesting long interview with Terry Eagleton. This bit in particular caught my eye, "Most people I know in academia want to get out... The neo-managerial ethos has effectively brought to an end a 200-year-old tradition of the university as a centre of critique." Depressingly, I can't help but agree with him.
On the development of A Unified Theory of Muppet Types.Who knew Bert and Ernie represent a perfect summation of the entire dynamic of human tendencies and interaction?
You might want to read this outstanding essay on measuring happiness. It critiques the new "science" of hedonics. "We do not need more hedonomics or utilonomics or freakonomics. We need humanomics".
Do you like to read? Do you like to walk? If the answer to both of these is 'yes', you might like this: A Book Lover's Guide to Reading and Walking at the Same Time. I must confess that as someone who does this every day, it really is not that difficult...

Comments

Kris McCracken said…

Ubi sunt populo?

13 September 2012 at 13:08

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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