...Who put these fingerprints on my imagination?....
Speaking of books, thank you, Lynne Truss. Can a book on punctuation send me to fits of giggles? Yes. I'm odd like that.
I also thank those who support her efforts.
(Despite The New Yorker's critique of her work. Why have I not subscribed to The New Yorker? So eloquent, so elegant, so slick and cosmopolitan. Oh, that's why, I guess.)
Thank you, Kurt Vonnegut. And I love YOU, Mister Writer.
Naturally, since it includes Nixon, I'm predisposed to love this. Thank you, Tim Kreider. My link to the current offering refused to work, so I removed it. I trust you can navigate this one on your own. [Newsflash: Pet Peeve- non-working links, or links to dead blogs or websites. Just FYI.]
For making me laugh yet again, I thank The Political Animal.
Ellen, thanks for cluing me in about the TWIGS program at Baltimore School for the Arts. It's a big reason why I still- and will- live in the city. It looks custom made for my kids.
A joke for you: how do you know when a porn star is done filling up his gas tank? He takes it out and sprays it all over the car. Courtesy of Sloth, via her blog. Thank you, Sloth, you dear, creepy creature.
There you have it, folks. Everything but the...
(Green Shirt; Elvis Costello)
No comments:
Post a Comment