I, for one, welcome the baby boomers as my overlord.
Whatever, but it'd be nice to be able to move beyond the hype-ridden and dehumanising language of marketing.
Janet Frame got an Order of NZ to cap off/supersede the Commander of the British Empire gong she'd accepted a few years earlier. As one of her former minders from Seacliff, famously immortalised in Faces in the Water , had received the slightly lower ranked Order of the BE a couple of decades earlier for services to nursing, I guess she felt justified in accepting.
Funny how these things work. Seriously though, people who really lust after honorific titles should be allowed them, provided they wear a silly hat of their own design when performing mundane actions like visiting Pak 'n Save. Three strikes caught without one, stripped of the title. For life.
Understood, Mark, though I found the in yer face animal abuse footage pretty artfully disturbing. I took that to be George's point - a video about the really nasty realities underlying the NZ economy.
This video, on the other hand... Banned on Youtube.
Might that not have something to do with it being absolute crap?
If you're going to, like, critique, maybe you could back that up just a little? Perhaps because it's a little derivative of Stuart Page's classic AFFCO effort for the Skeptics? More like following in a grand tradition. If your beef (no pun intended) is with the music, then yeah well, but George Darroch was hardly providing that example for fanboy reasons. You don't have to look far on YouTube to realise that no video is likely to be banned for being crap.
Between them, I wouldn't be surprised if the Myersons blamed Jake for global warming ...
. . . whereas to anyone with the good sense to be born after ca. 1959 it's plain that global warming, along with whatever other pressing issues you might fancy, is all due to the self-absorbed narcissism of those *%#&$ boomers.
I'm thinking for instance of projects sjuch as Kete Horowhenua.
Nice to see a mention of this great local resource. Surprised there aren't more. Important to me because I grew up in those parts. Just curious, Giovanni, how did it come to your attention?
Just don't write about your 12 year old's pubic hair. You'll be sweet.
Public hair. Not.
Christopher Robin Milne felt that his adult life had been hopelessly blighted, thanks to his father's ruthless exploitation of his childhood.
A while back, Mark Taslov quoted a Chinese proverb here, that went something like Men should should fear fame as pigs fear becoming fat. Pushing one's children into any kind of limelight isn't likely to do them any developmental favours. Unless they're rather lacking in personality, it's hardly likely that they'll be grateful once they're able to form their own adult opinions.
"The books live on. But in real life Toad is dead; Alice is dead; Peter Pan and Wendy are long flown; and now Christopher Robin, a 'sweet and decent' man who overcame a childhood in which he was haunted by Pooh and taunted by peers, has left without saying his prayers - he was a dedicated atheist - aged 75." Euan Ferguson, Robin's gone, but swallows linger on', The Observer, 28 April 1996.
but I have in the past described, to take one example, the dear old Windsor Castle pub as "our church".
We used to go there for the things folks go to church for -- music, community and transcendence. Although our methods for transcendence probably wouldn't have pleased the vicar ...
Like the transcendental guy who sprang up from the dance floor at what was probably the second-to-last Toy Love gig at the Windsor and grabbed hold of one of those bloody great baronial wagon wheels suspended from chains, with three faux flaming torch light fittings, and brought the lot crashing down. A bona fide miracle that no-one got clipped. And the security guy ambled around afterwards, asking "Juicy who pulled that light down?" Even more miraculous, the same guy was back there the following night, unmolested by security and pogoing his arse off.
Once when moving into a new flat, my extremely tall flatmate found a pile of Watchtower mags hidden away in a top cupboard.
While I wouldn't be quite as hardline as Islander about the nature of the void/whatever, the notion of spending eternity in the badly art directed version of Switzerland that passes for paradise in Watchtower magazines is pretty resistable.
Can I second that with a small warning? I don't want to know about everything you can do with rosary beads.
Never did stick at them long enough to find out. As for their functionality, there were basic beads, made by the Little Yellow Sisters of the Sick or whoever, somewhere in Ireland, and a deluxe model with a little plastic bubble on the crucifix component, which was claimed to contain actual dust from the catacombs of Rome. I guess that added a kind of broadband capability.