1: Celebrity trivia
Q. Did you know Ronan Farrow’s blue eyes are fake?
A. Who the *&^% is Ronan Farrow?
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They say that Louis XIV had the inscription Ultima Ratio Regum cast into all the cannon of the French Army. It means “The Ultimate Argument of Kings,” and that always struck me as one of the most honest and up-front things any ruler or would-be ruler ever said. “We can dress it up prettier than this, but when it comes down to the unvarnished truth this is what it’s about: You’ll do as I say or I’ll send my goons to kill you.”
I thought about that for a long time. If there’s an ultimate argument, it seems only logical that there must be an ultimate answer. For years I thought the ultimate answer must be the bullets in my rifle, but it never seemed quite right. I’ve got bullets – he’s got frigging Cannon Balls. I mean, if there were three hundred million rifles throwing bullets at him, then maybe. But we all know that’s not going to happen. So if there’s an ultimate answer to his ultimate argument, it sure as hell ain’t bullets.
It finally came to me – and that’s when I abandoned the city and most of my stuff, and gave all that was behind me a good stiff Randian Shrug.
The ultimate answer to kings is not a bullet, but a belly laugh.
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Heh; I feel your “pain”.
With a few minutes to wait at the dentist’s office, I picked up a copy of “People” magazine.
Who ARE all these people?
I think it’s better, this way.
To be honest, I used to occasionally look up these soi disant celebrities just so I’d have some context for what people around me were babbling about. My usual reaction was, “Huh. Well, there go a few seconds of my life I’ll never get back,” and go back to total lack of concern.
And then one day… I checked Wikipedia for some freak that kept showing up in sidebars as I was trying to read news; someone called — and the search was to figure out why someone would even use that name — Snooki.
Mere lack of concern didn’t hack it.
If I have no clue my usual guess is “Is this some sort of sport reference or reality tv?”
Both of which I have no time for. Time spent watch professional sports is much better spent on the water, or in the woods, and time spent watching reality tv is better spent on a less brain cell killing activity…
.
.
.
.
like drinking turpentine.
Strange that someone should mention turpentine…
I got given a gas cooker that’s actually jetted for propane, and I spent yesterday, in the house, cleaning years worth of caked on and baked on grease off it, using…
a miracle cleaner, one which is totally incompatible with marital bliss. I don’t have marital bliss, so the cleaner worked fine;- kerosene. The house stinks of it, but what the hell.
Popular vulture is something that I’m now almost completely isolated from. I was getting hourly propaganda broadcasts even with the classical music station on in the vehicle (the british state makes hourly propaganda broadcasting a condition of licensing for radio stations), but got sick of hearing hourly reports of the trial of some high maintenance Hairy Back, shooting his apparently equally high maintenance girlfriend.
Back in 2006 when there was a spate of South African cops going postal on their colleagues and families with works issue guns, I don’t think the Brits were even told about it, and it’s hard even to find a mention in an internet search. As soon as it’s a supposed mundane, it’s hourly news to show us what happens when mundanes are allowed guns.
I looked the present critter up on wikipedia, seems he’s the one that olympic runners didn’t want to run against, because having two dibblers supposedly gave him an unfair advantage.
I changed the vehicle battery a couple of weeks ago, and haven’t bothered to put the code in to reactivate the radio. a great improvement.