Man, twenty-three years later and Scarabaeus is still just as creepy as ever, at least to those of us who watched from under a blanket as our older siblings played it for untold hours. The music is still awesome, too.

I had rather an awesome idea- if you took all the songs from the Mighty Boosh, and played them one after the other, and did all the dances, not only would you be ridiculously cheerful, you'd also get some good exercise.

_MIRACLES._


1.

What shall I give? and which are my miracles?


2.

Realism is mine--my miracles--Take freely,
Take without end--I offer them to you wherever your feet can carry you or
your eyes reach.


3.

Why! who makes much of a miracle?
As to me, I know of nothing else but miracles,
Whether I walk the streets of Manhattan,
Or dart my sight over the roofs of houses toward the sky,
Or wade with naked feet along the beach, just in the edge of the water,
Or stand under trees in the woods,
Or talk by day with any one I love--or sleep in the bed at night with any
one I love,
Or sit at the table at dinner with my mother,
Or look at strangers opposite me riding in the car,
Or watch honey-bees busy around the hive, of a summer forenoon,
Or animals feeding in the fields,
Or birds--or the wonderfulness of insects in the air,
Or the wonderfulness of the sundown--or of stars shining so quiet and
bright,
Or the exquisite, delicate, thin curve of the new moon in spring;
Or whether I go among those I like best, and that like me best--mechanics,
boatmen, farmers,
Or among the savans--or to the _soiree_--or to the opera.
Or stand a long while looking at the movements of machinery,
Or behold children at their sports,
Or the admirable sight of the perfect old man, or the perfect old woman,
Or the sick in hospitals, or the dead carried to burial,
Or my own eyes and figure in the glass;
These, with the rest, one and all, are to me miracles,
The whole referring--yet each distinct and in its place.


4.

To me, every hour of the light and dark is a miracle,
Every inch of space is a miracle,
Every square yard of the surface of the earth is spread with the same,
Every cubic foot of the interior swarms with the same;
Every spear of grass--the frames, limbs, organs, of men and women, and all
that concerns them,
All these to me are unspeakably perfect miracles.

To me the sea is a continual miracle;
The fishes that swim--the rocks--the motion of the waves--the ships, with
men in them,
What stranger miracles are there?

- Walt Whitman

Then an old man, a keeper of an inn, said, "Speak to us of Eating and Drinking."

And he said:

Would that you could live on the fragrance of the earth, and like an air plant be sustained by the light.

But since you must kill to eat, and rob the young of its mother's milk to quench your thirst, let it then be an act of worship,

And let your board stand an altar on which the pure and the innocent of forest and plain are sacrificed for that which is purer and still more innocent in many.

When you kill a beast say to him in your heart,

"By the same power that slays you, I to am slain; and I too shall be consumed. For the law that delivered you into my hand shall deliver me into a mightier hand.

Your blood and my blood is naught but the sap that feeds the tree of heaven."

And when you crush an apple with your teeth, say to it in your heart,

"Your seeds shall live in my body,

And the buds of your tomorrow shall blossom in my heart,

And your fragrance shall be my breath,

And together we shall rejoice through all the seasons."

And in the autumn, when you gather the grapes of your vineyard for the winepress, say in you heart,

"I too am a vineyard, and my fruit shall be gathered for the winepress,

And like new wine I shall be kept in eternal vessels."

And in winter, when you draw the wine, let there be in your heart a song for each cup;

And let there be in the song a remembrance for the autumn days, and for the vineyard, and for the winepress.

- Khalil Gibran, "The Prophet" (1923)

Apparently PMS + the IT Crowd = an uncontrollable urge to cuddle Moss and Roy, especially when they're crying.

Howard: Yeah, so what have you been up to, then?

Vince: Well, pretty much, after the telly show, I invented this game, right? I invented this game. Very excellent, check this out right? I invented a game called "Pelt The Rabbit In His Big White Face." I know, the title alone is pretty cool. But wait 'till you hear what happens, right? You're in here, or wherever, right- by a windmill, it don't matter- and this massive rabbit comes in, and he's got a really massive face. He's freak, he's like that (makes a face) and he's quite tall, about six foot. He comes running towards you and you have to, like, leg it, and get away from him, or like, pelt him with coins, sunflower seeds, or take off your Chelsea boot and just take him out. 'Cos if he catches you, he just throws you on the floor and rapes you.

Howard: ...

Howard: That's not a game, really, is it? That's just a sequence of events. A sequence of horrific events...culminating in a rape. Where's the game element?

Vince: Yeah, but it's not an ordinary rape, it's a rabbit rape! It's a terrific bunny bumming!

Howard: ...From MB Games. What? Well, there's no strategy. Where's the strategy?

Vince: Of course there's a strategy!

Howard: Why? What is it?

Vince: Well, the thing with it, is you never know when he's going to come, do you? When he's going to arrive, easy! He might come in a hour, he might come in two hours, he might come in a month! He might come in a year, he might come in fourteen minutes! What if he's ill, he's got a brother that looks exactly like him!

Howard: (moves further away from Vince)

Vince: He's the worse of the two, if anything. He's more powerful and vigorous. You'll never get away from him; if it's his brother, you might as well just sit down. Put up the white flag.

Howard: ...

Howard: This isn't the show, by the way, this is, you know, just a little bit of idle banter up top.

-Vince Noir and Howard Moon, "The Mighty Boosh (live)"

"I once kicked a raccoon's face right off its body! What its face was doing on its body, I have no fucking idea! Faces are supposed to be covering heads! I was doing him a favor! It flew through the air like a pancake, and landed on Jesus's face! I didn't mean it to, but it was a cheeky bonus!"

-The Hitcher, The Mighty Boosh Live (2006)

It's not on Teh Cheezburger yet, but I like it.

Best thing about this evening; duct taping a book to my pocketless little brother so he could jog home with it.

Worst thing about this evening: spending half an hour with my hands in the (just cleaned) freezing cold toilet using a screwdriver to chip off a third of an inch of what is basically limestone that was making it difficult for the toilet to function correctly. I don't mind the whole toilet thing, really, since I'd just cleaned it and all, but the angle you need to scrape/dig/stab at is hard on anyone's wrists and the water, especially from repeated flushes to clear away the stone chunks, gets progressively colder and colder until your hands are numb.

Best thing about that: I don't feel guilty about spending the rest of the evening watching the Boosh Live and drinking hot tea, and not, say, doing something constructive.

"Oh but how can I sleep with your voice in my head,
With an ocean between us and room in my bed?"

A-ha, "The Swing Of Things"

When I get out of sorts about the sheer amount of paperwork we're in the middle of right now- and it is a lot, trust me- I need only listen to How Hermes Requisitioned His Groove Back to remind me that yes, bureaucrats are born, not made, and a little of my humor is thus restored. (Please note that instead of visuals from Futurama, the link leads to the song set over clips from Fullmetal Alchemist. I couldn't find one with the actual proper video. And those on dialup; this will take a very long time, as usual.)

Funniest. Plagiarism. Ever.

I've been idly browsing used car ads, trying to decide if I'd rather have a Mustang or a Charger (the great debate from Bullitt, I think). I'm not really a car girl, my great love being transport with hooves, but there's something about those 60's and 70's muscle cars that makes my ears perk up- must be the engine noise. They're actually not too expensive, if you don't mind high mileage (which I don't mind, considering the first car I had my name on the title to went up over 200,000 when we had it, and it kept in ticking to the end) and a little paintwork/interior work. It's something to think about when I'm working; a 'toy' car that I could learn to fix up could be a fun project.

I got the letter!

The letter! The letter that says that we're one step closer to getting the Owlvark here so we can get married! There's still more stuff to go, but the really long waiting part is over! #happy dance#

I would just like to reiterate that if you want to buy a DVD copy of The Last Unicorn, (and you should!) that you should go here, to the Conlan Press site, and buy it through them. If you buy it anywhere else, Peter S. Beagle, who wrote the original novel and the screenplay of the film, doesn't get one red cent of what he's owed. If you buy through Conlan Press, he gets some of the money that he's honestly earned. Also, I got my (signed, awesome!) copy in the mail today and it *rocks*- their service is excellent. If you're going to buy the movie (and again, you should- it's certainly not your normal "cartoon" movie) please consider spending your money where it will do the most good for the man who gave the story to us.

"Practice wise medicine and try to have a good laugh at least three times a day. Be
humorous with God and religion, for laughter is the best way to exorcise evil, which is by
its nature heavy as hell."
-Edward Hays

My only real motivation at the moment is checking the mail to see if the letter the Owlvark and I are waiting for is there. I check the mailbox when I get up, and if it's not there, I immediately feel like going back to bed to sleep and wait for the next day. Thus,I post mostly links and quotes at the moment, because my brain has very little interesting content.

Mark Lamarr sings House Of The Rising Sun - for those of you who haven't seen Never Mind The Buzzcocks, the idea of this particular game is that two of the team members have to sing the intros to songs to the third team member, who then has to guess the song in question. The third team member in this case is Kenzie, a boyband refugee who seems amiable enough but doesn't appear to have two brain cells to rub together. As always, low bandwidth readers should either pass by or be prepared to wait a long time.

Teh Fuzz = Teh Awesome

You can't tell, but I'm typing this on my laptop- w00t!!!

It seems that at the moment the only vaguely interesting thing I have to blather on about is my dreams. Case in point, considering the amount of the Mighty Boosh I watched last night (not to mention all the screencaps I was taking) I *should* have had some sort of excellent dream about Saboo that I would be unable to write about here. This, of course, would be if my brain liked me. Apparently my brain doesn't like me, because instead I dreamed that I was sitting at a table in a run-down coffee shop, having a shouting match about politics with Harrison, who I finally hit with a chair before storming out. #sighs# No, I don't get it either.

Brak and Zorak fight over their respective "favorite saturated fat." Not for low bandwidth, sorry. And if you do watch, I defy you to not have the song pop up in your head at odd hours. You have been warned #grins#

The only thing I remember about my dreams last night is that I woke up thinking, "Well, what would Steve McQueen do?"

...He'd be awesome, of course. Beyond that, I wish I knew.