stoutfellow: Joker (Joker)
On the envelope, in big bold letters, were the words "Important Information Enclosed".

It was addressed to ":Name: or Current Resident".
stoutfellow: (Ben)
1. From Political Wire:
President-elect Obama met with New Mexico Gov. Bill Richardson in Chicago, according to the Washington Post, "and is under consideration to be Secretary of State in the Obama administration."
President is a hard enough job; he wants to be Secretary of State too?

2. Some charity or other is sponsoring a food drive on campus. Apparently they particularly want "stapled foods".

3. One of the little shops at the University Center has a sign up:
To serve you better, please do not use your cell phone or MP3 player while in line.
stoutfellow: (Ben)
Did the person who coined the bon mot "If it ain't broke, don't fix it!" ever hear of a thing called preventive maintenance?
stoutfellow: (Ben)
I missed National Poetry Month. Nonetheless, for some reason, I feel like posting this, which is one of my favorite poems.

"To His Coy Mistress", Andrew Marvell
Had we but world enough, and time,
This coyness, lady, were no crime.
We would sit down and think which way
To walk, and pass our long love's day;
Thou by the Indian Ganges' side
Shouldst rubies find; I by the tide
Of Humber would complain. I would
Love you ten years before the Flood;
And you should, if you please, refuse
Till the conversion of the Jews.
My vegetable love should grow
Vaster than empires, and more slow.
An hundred years should go to praise
Thine eyes, and on thy forehead gaze;
Two hundred to adore each breast,
But thirty thousand to the rest;
An age at least to every part,
And the last age should show your heart.
For, lady, you deserve this state,
Nor would I love at lower rate.

        But at my back I always hear
Time's winged chariot hurrying near;
And yonder all before us lie
Deserts of vast eternity.
Thy beauty shall no more be found,
Nor, in thy marble vault, shall sound
My echoing song; then worms shall try
That long preserv'd virginity,
And your quaint honour turn to dust,
And into ashes all my lust.
The grave's a fine and private place,
But none I think do there embrace.

        Now therefore, while the youthful hue
Sits on thy skin like morning dew,
And while thy willing soul transpires
At every pore with instant fires,
Now let us sport us while we may;
And now, like am'rous birds of prey,
Rather at once our time devour,
Than languish in his slow-chapp'd power.
Let us roll all our strength, and all
Our sweetness, up into one ball;
And tear our pleasures with rough strife
Thorough the iron gates of life.
Thus, though we cannot make our sun
Stand still, yet we will make him run.
stoutfellow: Joker (Default)
Apropos of absolutely nothing, except that another blog mentioned the song, and the specific passage.

I've always wondered why a certain stanza late in the song didn't go something like this (with better scansion, of course):

"I got all choked up and I threw down my gun
And he shot me in the leg, said I hadn't learned a damn thing, and walked away."


Nov. 18th, 2004 09:03 am
stoutfellow: Joker (Default)
Quite a few years ago, I read a newspaper article about a proposal to erect a movie theater outside Zion National Park, where people could go to see onscreen what they would see live if they actually went into the park. (The claim was that this would make the park experience available to those who for health or disability reasons could not stand the rigors of hiking about. Apparently the developer had never heard of videotapes...)

I thought then that that was the most absurd example of vicarious experience I would ever encounter.

I was wrong.


stoutfellow: Joker (Default)

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