Aunts and other mysteries
I'm about to reveal the kind of soppy, deeply personal detail this blog usually so strenuously avoids. If you have any kind of sense at all you'll skip this piece entirely. You have been warned.

[EMBARASSINGLY AWFUL SELF PITY MODE]

I spoke to an Aunt yesterday. Let's call her Aunt P. Seems odd for someone who blogs about, and posts pictures of, the mould on his living room ceiling, but I'm not terribly good at calling or writing to relatives. It has been, for instance, quite a few years since I've spoken to my father, not that I haven't ever considered calling, but somehow good sense always got the better of me.

A week or two ago Aunt P sent me a collection of photos of my Mother when she was young. Lots of pre-teen birthday parties and the like. Photos I'd never seen before. Photos of my mother looking like a very bossy young lady indeed! Actually, these are the only photos I now have of my mother. When I lived at the last place, I'd had my dad send me a picture but, to my eternal shame, I managed to lose it somehow. Probably in the move.

I never quite worked up the courage to call my father and say, "Dad, I managed to lose that photo you sent to me a couple of years ago. Sorry I haven't called you, or written to tell you where I live now, but would you mind sending me another. Promise I won't lose this one."

Aunt P told me that when my mother moved to Australia she took all the photos of herself in her late teens and twenties; the photos where she has all the dance trophies. Photos I never saw. Apparently my mother used to go out dancing 4 times a week!

I never knew that. I never knew my mother could dance.

Oh sure, she tried to teach me the steps to the Waltz in the kitchen once or twice, and sure she used to dance and sing as she pushed the cart through the green grocer's, but I always assumed she only did things like that to embarass me. Isn't that why mothers do things? To embarass their sons?

I never knew she could dance.

I never knew.

[/EMBARASSINGLY AWFUL SELF PITY MODE]

Read it sideways :-)
The smiley seems to have been a part of online communications for as long as I can remember, but like all ideas, it had to come from somewhere. But where?

Well, after an extensive search, researchers have found the very first recorded use of this most popular emoticon. The honour belongs to a Scott Fahlman at Carnegie Mellon, in Pittsburgh. For the record, here is Scott's 1982 post:

19-Sep-82 11:44    Scott E  Fahlman             :-)

From: Scott E  Fahlman <Fahlman at Cmu-20c>
I propose that the following character sequence for joke markers:
:-)
Read it sideways.  Actually, it is probably more economical to mark
things that are NOT jokes, given current trends.  For this, use
:-(

Just another Monday in L.A.
There's something very satisfying about this story. According to Salon/AP, this past Monday afternoon in a Rodeo Drive hotel, a 37-year-old Nashville conspiracy theorist by the name of Bart Sibrel approached Apollo 11 Astronaut Edwin "Buzz'' Aldrin. He then began spouting oft-repeated and easily discredited theories that Aldrin's 1969 moon landing was faked.

The 72-year-old legend proceeded to pop the fruitcake on the nose.

Beautiful, just beautiful.

Can't count that high!
Hit stats going insane! Too scared to look -- Aargh!

OK, you perverts, I know why you're here. Click here to go directly to the SIMONYA POPOVA Story/Picture (the story is now in my archives).

Do me a favour, after you've "read" it, hit the comment link under the Simonya entry and open up your perverted little heart. None of you disgusting freaks have left a single comment so far. I realise to you that this blog is just another pit-stop on your never-ending porn trawl, but to me, you're something special.

I care, I really do.

P.S. You do realise she's an entirely digital creation, don't you?

YES! YES! YES!
Is there something wrong with being so absolutely and wonderfully happy on this day, of all days? If there is, then call the cops because this kid is Over the Moon!

Why? Just moments ago the agency called with the good news.

The sun is shining, the sky is blue; I'm popping champagne corks, why aren't you?!?

That's right, I'm working again!

--- === I'VE GOT A JOB! === ---

A REAL-LIVE, OLD-FASHIONED,

NINE-TO-FIVE, HONEST-TO-GOODNESS,

WORK-A-DAY IN SHIRT-AND-TIE KINDA JOB!

And what a job! The company is very cool, the people seem nice and there are plenty of opportunities to update my skill set. Oh, the location! Just a stone's throw from the River Thames and not more than five minutes walk from Tower Bridge.

The pay? Well, it's OK, about the same as the last place. But who cares about the money?!? I've rejoined the workforce!!!! I'm no longer a statistic; not UN-anything. I'm employed. Full-stop.

Money will be coming in and not just going out. Tee hee! What a novelty!

I don't want to gush, but when you've been out of work this long and you finally get a chance to...

Anyway, I'm very, very happy and I start Monday.

A triumph of sorts
For all you fans of Triumph the Insult-Comic Dog, there is now a website devoted to his insulting interviews. It includes downloadable footage of many of his most annoying brilliant pieces. Highlights include his recent appearance at the VMAs with Moby and Eminem as well as his by now infamous visit to the Star Wars ticket line.

Click here to be insulted.

Hello China!
Websurfers in China may not be allowed to visit cnn.com or news.bbc.co.uk but, thank heavens, this blog is still open to Far Eastern seekers of truth. I promise that I'll do my level best to keep the lines of communication to China open, just as long as I can.

Find out if your page is still accessible by clicking here.

(Link via Marmalade)

Svedeesh Creeminel Mestermeend et vurk -- Bork bork bork!
Those wacky Swedes! A 47-year-old man with a plan recently visited his local post office in Halmstad, Sweden. He approached the cashier, handed her a piece of paper and made demands. First on the list was a "a big bag of cash," which he duly received. The next demand was a bit bigger. Written on the piece of paper was the robber's bank account number. He insisted that a modest $37 million be paid into his account.

"Sure. Why not.".

Somehow Swedish police were able to catch this wily crook. I think we can all sleep a little more soundly tonight.

Bork bork bork!

Listers with opinions
I'm just going to take a quick time-out to highlight some recent Blog postings which have tickled my fancy. All of these folks are on my list (over there on the left):

• Dominion at Sceptical Blog gives an unwary commenter what-for over the whole McDonalds/Scalding Coffee debate.
• Gert of Mad Musings fame gets political and examines the rights and wrongs of rights.
• Miss JenJen spends a night in with the dogs.

So pop on over and take a look.

P.S. If you just Googled in looking for info on SIMONYA POPOVA, scroll down to Friday's entry (and leave a comment for heaven's sake -- I don't get hit numbers like this very often, it's your duty to say something)

363 days ago
It's almost a year since that fateful day in the skies. Wherever you are in the world, your TV screens are full of documentaries. Maybe you're feeling that it's too soon, that the 11th of September seemed like only yesterday.

Read this. Seriously, read it.

Four more, three more, two more and drop dead
Last night I watched the US Open final between Andre Agassi and Pete Sampras. There was absolutely no doubt who I'd support in that match, after all, it was Agassi who had taken out Hewitt in Saturday's soul-destroying semi. Besides, Sampras has been a favourite for years; the possibility that he could pull a seventh US Open out of the bag at this point in his career was just too delicious to ignore.

Pizza, beer and Sampras in a Grand Slam final; what more could I ask for?

A nap, apparently.

At some point early in the fourth set this hard-core tennis fan's eyelids began to droop. No! Not this time! I will stay awake, I will, I will, I WILL.

I woke up about an hour ago. Rising up through the foggy daze, I heard the siren-like calls of the Aerobics OZ Style presenter.

"Four more... Three more... Two more... and... Wake-up you lazy bastard."

Women in Lycra were exhorting me to stand up and squat. What could I do? I stood up and I squatted. To the beat!

Ahh, TV Aerobics! This is the kind of thing I can get behind (usually on a theoretical basis, you understand). And squatting! I suspect squatting may be the only form of exercise which won't actually kill me. The problem with most exercise shows is that they assume you're already pretty fit to begin with. Unfortunately I am somewhat off the curve when it comes to the 'ole height-weight ratio thing. Furthermore, it turns out that I am cursed with the world's shortest hamstrings (official), so I usually find myself watching these kind of shows, rather than playing along.

As if watching built blondes in day-glo leggings is aerobically effective!

But this morning I was in the zone, I found myself squatting with the best of them. Up down, side to side, dozy-do and throw up. By the time I gave into the inevitable and staggered towards to the fridge (ahh Cranberry and Raspberry juice, they'll never understand our love!) the show was almost over, and I figured my heart had a good 4 minutes of beats left. Even now, as I type, I feel that strangely euphoric mixture of the near-death experience and the feeling of accomplishment.

Maybe I'll go for a ride today. Or climb a mountain.

Maybe I'll go back to sleep.

And speaking of folks in Lycra conspiring to kill us, anyone who has ever devoted time to meditation owes it to themselves to read this thought provoking article with an open mind.

(For the record: Sampras beat Agassi 6-3, 6-4, 5-7, 6-4)

Does this post mean I'm officially a geek?
Cult Sci-Fi TV show Farscape has been cancelled. According to star Ben Bowder, they're taking a chainsaw to Moya (the ship set) this Wednesday. If you like the show and want to kick up a fuss, pop on over to this page and learn what you can do. But hurry, because once the sets are torn down, that really will be the end.