Love, life's sweetest reward. Let it flow, it floats back to you.

I've utilised the zoom a little bit to see what's happening up there on the bridge. If you look very closely, I think that you can just about see Captain Stubing chastising "Gopher" Smith for another of his whacky, harebrained schemes.

I do like the fact that Gopher somehow made it into Congress after The Love Boat went off air. It seems odd to me that Captain Stubing didn’t somehow end up President though.

Similarly, it seems a great shame to me that Barack Obama became the first African American President, instead of Jimmie Walker (J. J. Evans in Good Times). Don’t tell me that the inauguration speech couldn’t have been livened up with a “Dy-no-MITE” and a spin.

Comments

yournotalone said…

I heard that even Tasmnia got over 42 Celsius. Must be tough.

2 February 2009 at 17:00

Maria Verivaki said…

nice title today

2 February 2009 at 17:21

Kris McCracken said…

Aigars, yeah, it was very hot the past couple of weeks, back down to 17 degrees Celcius today, and everyone is wearing coats!

They complain that it's too hot, then they complain that it's too cold, they complain that there is no rain, then they complain that it rains too much.

It seems hard to please people.

3 February 2009 at 12:20

Kris McCracken said…

Kiwi, one of the best theme tunes out!

3 February 2009 at 12:20

Anonymous said…

This is the fun part of any departure. One hour of pre checks and then stand around waiting for someone to come and let your lines go. Usually another hour. Still you get to talk to each other, and the Pilot, if you are lucky enough to know him. That is the Australian way. I don't know about this lot. I think you speak when spoken to. The way we used to be. Thank God for change.

4 February 2009 at 21:51

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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