Tuesday, June 29, 2004
( 2:09 PM ) The Rat
ALUMINUM FOIL DETECTOR BEANIE. Via TCB, of course.
# Posted by The Rat @ 2:09 PM
Thursday, June 24, 2004
( 1:37 AM ) The Rat
TWO OLD FAVORITES. Please note that none of you saw me blogging this from language gulag.
Come live with me and be my love,
And we will all the pleasures prove
That hills and valleys, dale and field,
And all the craggy mountains yield.
There will we sit upon the rocks
And see the shepherds feed their flocks,
By shallow rivers, to whose falls
Melodious birds sing madrigals.
There will I make thee beds of roses
And a thousand fragrant posies,
A cap of flowers, and a kirtle
Embroider'd all with leaves of myrtle.
A gown made of the finest wool
Which from our pretty lambs we pull,
Fair linèd slippers for the cold,
With buckles of the purest gold.
A belt of straw and ivy buds
With coral clasps and amber studs:
And if these pleasures may thee move,
Come live with me and be my love.
Thy silver dishes for thy meat
As precious as the gods do eat,
Shall on an ivory table be
Prepared each day for thee and me.
The shepherd swains shall dance and sing
For thy delight each May-morning:
If these delights thy mind may move,
Then live with me and be my love.
If all the world and love were young,
And truth in every shepherd's tongue,
These pretty pleasures might me move
To live with thee and be thy love.
Time drives the flocks from field to fold
When rivers rage and rocks grow cold,
And Philomel becometh dumb;
The rest complains of cares to come.
The flowers do fade, and wanton fields
To wayward winter reckoning yields;
A honey tongue, a heart of gall,
Is fancy's spring, but sorrow's fall.
Thy gowns, thy shoes, thy beds of roses,
Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy posies
Soon break, soon wither, soon forgotten—
In folly ripe, in reason rotten.
Thy belt of straw and ivy buds,
Thy coral clasps and amber studs,
All these in me no means can move
To come to thee and be thy love.
But could youth last and love still breed,
Had joys no date nor age no need,
Then these delights my mind might move
To live with thee and be thy love.
—Sir Walter Raleigh
# Posted by The Rat @ 1:37 AM
Thursday, June 10, 2004
( 10:03 PM ) The Rat
MOMA reopens in Manhattan this November!
# Posted by The Rat @ 10:03 PM
( 9:12 PM ) The Rat
FUN WITH GOOGLE TRANSLATIONS. (Scroll down to "Report from Week 551.") An awesome WaPo Style Invitational (from April, because I'm slow), in which readers were asked to feed a sentence into the Google tool, translating it first into one of five languages, and then back into English. Via Eve, of course.
I never yet met a man that I didn't like.
(Spanish) I never satisfied a man yet with which I did not have pleasure. (Jeff Martin, Gaithersburg)
We will never surrender the fight!
(French) We will never return the combat! (Jonathan Obee, Washington)
Batter, batter, batter, batter, batter, batter, swing!
(French) Smooth paste, smooth paste, smooth paste, smooth paste, smooth paste, smooth paste, oscillation! (Tom Witte, Montgomery Village)
# Posted by The Rat @ 9:12 PM
( 1:22 PM ) The Rat
MY KIND OF HEADLINE. Thanks to IM for sending.
# Posted by The Rat @ 1:22 PM
Monday, June 07, 2004
( 2:30 PM ) The Rat
WATCHING PAINT DRY. The latest in reality TV. Thanks (I think?) to MSB for passing this along.
# Posted by The Rat @ 2:30 PM
( 2:16 PM ) The Rat
THE RAT IS KEEPING AN EYE PEELED for the new Art Deco Paris show, opening tomorrow at the Met. While you're there, you can also check out the Pierre and Maria-Gaetana Matisse Collection, which looks pretty spiffy.
# Posted by The Rat @ 2:16 PM
( 2:15 PM ) The Rat
CLEAN, MAYBE, BUT IS NEW YORK'S WATER KOSHER?
# Posted by The Rat @ 2:15 PM
( 2:14 PM ) The Rat
Show me a day when the world wasn't new.
# Posted by The Rat @ 2:14 PM
Thursday, June 03, 2004
( 4:56 PM ) The Rat
# Posted by The Rat @ 4:56 PM
( 4:51 PM ) The Rat
TORNADO SAFETY, via the Onion.
# Posted by The Rat @ 4:51 PM
( 4:49 PM ) The Rat
I have had a most rare vision. I have had a dream, past the wit of man to say what dream it was: man is but an ass, if he go about to expound this dream. Methought I was—there is no man can tell what. Methought I was,—and methought I had,—but man is but a patched fool, if he will offer to say what methought I had. The eye of man hath not heard, the ear of man hath not seen, man's hand is not able to taste, his tongue to conceive, nor his heart to report, what my dream was. I will get Peter Quince to write a ballad of this dream: it shall be called Bottom's Dream, because it hath no bottom; and I will sing it in the latter end of a play, before the duke: peradventure, to make it the more gracious, I shall sing it at her death.
—A Midsummer Night's Dream
# Posted by The Rat @ 4:49 PM