In my house there are two kinds of arms: little stumpy T-Rex arms (mine) and long dangling gibbon arms (@knedd). Which kind our daughter(s) will inherit is yet to be determined, but surely, surely, the gibbon is the dominant gene?
T-Rex Trying To Put On A Cardigan
#TRexTrying
… and other reimagined titles. Via @badtom.
Still, world, we can’t wait for every man to have a daughter – men, find your feminism NOW.
Came across this, mid-marking, via dmndkng. People have their reasons for not using apostrophes; my job involves persuading them to reconsider them.
Attn @gtiso, for here is a man who
often spoke in long sentences, consisting of multiple subordinate clauses—so many of these that on at least one occasion the audience began to applaud.
Alas, the biography appears to suggest he was a nasty bastard.
Following this opinion piece in The Press, the #rebuilditinDunedin theme started ‘pon Twitter. I believe the redoubtable Moata Tamaira was its originator.
Then this morning, this turned up in my feed reader. With all that’s happened and is happening, I struggle to articulate what being in Canterbury means to me. It’s not the first time I’ve left it to Van Der Velden in the absence of better words.
I came across this song on Channel 63, of all places, over the Christmas break. This is a band to whom I’ve always intended to listen more. (The track cuts off a little early in the video, unfortunately.)
As a travelling narrative and piece of high-end sexual nagging, it surpasses many others (Mr Jagger, I’m looking at you).
"Ground is written on one side and Sky on the other."
(Robin Hyde, 1938)
