Eat, sleep, play... eat, sleep, play... eat, sleep, play.
Sunday, December 20, 2009
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
C. M. Kornbluth, The Little Black Bag
Addiction
"The amber bottle, the crisp snap of the sealing as he cut it, the pleasurable exertion of starting the screw cap on its threads, and then the refreshing tangs in his throat, the warmth in his stomach, the dark, dull happy oblivion of drunkenness - they became real to him... - he struggled to his right knee. As he did, he heard a yelp behind him, and curiously craned his neck around while resting. It was the little girl, who had cut her hand quite badly on her toy, the piece of glass. Dr. Full could see the rilling bright blood down her coat, pooling at her feet.
He almost felt inclined to defer the image of the amber bottle for her, but not seriously. He knew that it was there, shoved well to the rear under the sink, behind the rusty drain where he had hidden it. He would have a drink and then magnanimously return to help the child. Dr. Full got to his other knee and then his feet, and proceeded at a rapid totter down the littered alley toward his room, where he would hunt with calm optimism at first for the bottle that was not there, then with anxiety, and then with frantic violence. He would hurl books and dishes about before he was done looking for the amber bottle of whiskey, and finally would beat his swollen knuckles against the brick wall until old scars on them opened and his thick old blood oozed over his hands. Last of all, he would sit down somewhere on the floor whimpering, and would plunge into the abyss of purgative nightmare that was his sleep."
"The amber bottle, the crisp snap of the sealing as he cut it, the pleasurable exertion of starting the screw cap on its threads, and then the refreshing tangs in his throat, the warmth in his stomach, the dark, dull happy oblivion of drunkenness - they became real to him... - he struggled to his right knee. As he did, he heard a yelp behind him, and curiously craned his neck around while resting. It was the little girl, who had cut her hand quite badly on her toy, the piece of glass. Dr. Full could see the rilling bright blood down her coat, pooling at her feet.
He almost felt inclined to defer the image of the amber bottle for her, but not seriously. He knew that it was there, shoved well to the rear under the sink, behind the rusty drain where he had hidden it. He would have a drink and then magnanimously return to help the child. Dr. Full got to his other knee and then his feet, and proceeded at a rapid totter down the littered alley toward his room, where he would hunt with calm optimism at first for the bottle that was not there, then with anxiety, and then with frantic violence. He would hurl books and dishes about before he was done looking for the amber bottle of whiskey, and finally would beat his swollen knuckles against the brick wall until old scars on them opened and his thick old blood oozed over his hands. Last of all, he would sit down somewhere on the floor whimpering, and would plunge into the abyss of purgative nightmare that was his sleep."
Sunday, November 15, 2009
Fredric Brown, Arena
Evolution of a God
"I am the end of evolution of a race so old time can not be expressed in words that have meaning to your mind. A race fused into a single entity, eternal - [a]n entity such as your primitive race might become..."
"I am the end of evolution of a race so old time can not be expressed in words that have meaning to your mind. A race fused into a single entity, eternal - [a]n entity such as your primitive race might become..."
Monday, November 02, 2009
Sunday, October 25, 2009
Isaac Asimov, Nightfall
The Moment of Madness
"Theremon staggered to his feet, his throat constricting him to breathlessness, all the muscles of his body writhing in a tensity of terror and sheer fear beyond bearing. He was going mad, and knew it, and somewhere deep inside a bit of sanity was screaming, struggling to fight off the hopeless flood of black terror. It was horrible to go mad and know that you were going mad - to know that in a little minute you would be here physically and yet all the real essence would be dead and drowned in the black madness. For this was the Dark - the Dark and the Cold and the Doom. The bright walls of the universe were shattered and their awful black fragments were falling down to crush and squeeze and obliterate him."
"Theremon staggered to his feet, his throat constricting him to breathlessness, all the muscles of his body writhing in a tensity of terror and sheer fear beyond bearing. He was going mad, and knew it, and somewhere deep inside a bit of sanity was screaming, struggling to fight off the hopeless flood of black terror. It was horrible to go mad and know that you were going mad - to know that in a little minute you would be here physically and yet all the real essence would be dead and drowned in the black madness. For this was the Dark - the Dark and the Cold and the Doom. The bright walls of the universe were shattered and their awful black fragments were falling down to crush and squeeze and obliterate him."
Friday, September 25, 2009
Audrey Niffenegger, The Time Traveler's Wife
The Moment of Joy
"... we laugh, and laugh, and nothing can ever be sad, no one can be lost, or dead, or far away: right now we are here, and nothing can mar our perfection, or steal the joy of this perfect moment."
"... we laugh, and laugh, and nothing can ever be sad, no one can be lost, or dead, or far away: right now we are here, and nothing can mar our perfection, or steal the joy of this perfect moment."
Friday, August 28, 2009
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
The Fish Market Restaurant
A great family restaurant = kids menu + crayons + colouring pictures + waitresses who take great family photos!
BeaverTails =P~
The Supreme Banana-Chocolate BeaverTail
The Classic Cinnamon and Sugar BeaverTail (also in Killaloe Sunrise)
On our first day in Ottawa (at the Byward Market), we tracked down and devoured two BeaverTails. The fact they merely laid there without defenses of any kind made them easy targets for hungry travellers. Quickly having developed a taste for these indigenous pastries we finished off another three the night before our long journey back to Toronto, where a close cousin of the BeaverTail resides, the Funnel Cake.
Thursday, April 09, 2009
Lucas' Clavicle Injury
The clavicle, or collar bone, holds the shoulder joint away from the rest of the upper body (trunk) and is only as thick as your little finger.