Thank you, if you appreciate the tuning so much, I hope you will enjoy the playing more.

144 is a dozen dozens.

Even better, 144 is one gross.

Psalm 144 begins with the statement:

Praise be to the LORD my Rock, who trains my hands for war, my fingers for battle.

Section 144 of Bangladesh Code of Criminal Procedure prohibits assembly of five or more persons, public meetings, and carrying firearms. This is probably why The Polyphonic Spree have chosen not to tour Bangladesh.

The total land area of Bangladesh is 144 thousand square kilometres.

As of 2005, the population of Bangladesh was approximately 144 million.

Thus, if your get a dozen dozen Bangladeshis, times that number by one million, get them to praise the LORD with a rock concert (featuring The Polyphonic Spree which would be in breach of Section 144 of Bangladesh Code of Criminal Procedure) that went for 144 hours, it would smell gross.

Probably.

Comments

USelaine said…

Meanwhile, up and over here, I've got the 44th president of my country.

Rock on!

21 January 2009 at 17:41

Priyanka Khot said…

wow ur knowledge about 144 amazes me.

21 January 2009 at 20:12

Kris McCracken said…

Elaine, you've got AGES to go before 144!

Isn't it really 43 though? Grover Cleveland is called President 22 AND 24, despite being only one person!

23 January 2009 at 11:02

Kris McCracken said…

Priyanka, 144 is the twelfth Fibonacci number, and the largest one to also be a square. It is also is the smallest number with exactly 15 divisors.

But I shall stop there...

23 January 2009 at 11:04

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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