October 2007 Archives
Her: We've been shaking hands for about ten minutes now. Has he even taken a photo yet?
Him: I think I heard a click.
Her: That was my knuckle.
Him: Ah.
Her: You know, we've been shaking hands for so long, I don't think I can tell where my body ends and yours begins.
Him: Really? I feel that too!
Her: Yes. I've been waiting for that feeling all my life.
Him: Me too!
Her: I never thought I'd first experience that feeling during a photo shoot for images designed to illustrate key stages in the flowcycle of a corporate contract schedule, though.
Him: No. But that doesn't make it any less romantic!
Her: Well... well, it kind of does.
Him: It does?
Her: Seventy-three per cent less romantic. I can clearly picture a pie chart saying so.
Him: Oh.
Her: I don't think that I'd be able to picture a pie chart in a more romantic situation.
Him: I suppose not.
Time passes.
Him: Did you just..?
Her: Yes. Sorry.
Him: No, don't apologise ... It's nice.
Him: I think I heard a click.
Her: That was my knuckle.
Him: Ah.
Her: You know, we've been shaking hands for so long, I don't think I can tell where my body ends and yours begins.
Him: Really? I feel that too!
Her: Yes. I've been waiting for that feeling all my life.
Him: Me too!
Her: I never thought I'd first experience that feeling during a photo shoot for images designed to illustrate key stages in the flowcycle of a corporate contract schedule, though.
Him: No. But that doesn't make it any less romantic!
Her: Well... well, it kind of does.
Him: It does?
Her: Seventy-three per cent less romantic. I can clearly picture a pie chart saying so.
Him: Oh.
Her: I don't think that I'd be able to picture a pie chart in a more romantic situation.
Him: I suppose not.
Time passes.
Him: Did you just..?
Her: Yes. Sorry.
Him: No, don't apologise ... It's nice.
"Hello? Is that the fire brigade? You'll think me very foolish, but I've gone and got myself handcuffed to my mobile phone... That's right, my mobile phone... I am literally handcuffed to my mobile phone... You're right, I suppose I do look a bit like a clever visual metaphor for the situation in which an overworked businessman finds himself. How funny! But still, I'd appreciate it if you...
"The handcuff? Now that you mention it, yes, it is quite a bit bigger than the phone itself... I suppose I could just slip the phone out of the handcuff... Yes, that seems to have worked. You really must think me very foolish.
"But thank you so much, anyway, for helping a foolish old man. I'm sorry to waste your time with my unusual and easily remedied sexual accident. Good-bye now."
"The handcuff? Now that you mention it, yes, it is quite a bit bigger than the phone itself... I suppose I could just slip the phone out of the handcuff... Yes, that seems to have worked. You really must think me very foolish.
"But thank you so much, anyway, for helping a foolish old man. I'm sorry to waste your time with my unusual and easily remedied sexual accident. Good-bye now."
"So we're going to take you back; deep, deep back into the past - before Happy Days, before Oliver! - back... So I need you to look deep into my eyes... deep, deep into my eyes like you're sinking, sinking, sinking... hip-deep in -
"No, wait! It's a prop session. Forget all that: look deep, deep into the swirling wheel; the swirling, twirling, wheel of...
"So - are you feeling sleepy? You're not feeling sleepy. OK, look, could you just breathe through this chemical-soaked rag?"
"No, wait! It's a prop session. Forget all that: look deep, deep into the swirling wheel; the swirling, twirling, wheel of...
"Actually, no, this isn't working. OK. Try this. Look deep, deep into my eyes WITH YOUR RIGHT EYE and look deep, deep into the swirling wheel of dreams WITH YOUR LEFT EYE - no, my left. My left. Your right. That's it.
"So - are you feeling sleepy? You're not feeling sleepy. OK, look, could you just breathe through this chemical-soaked rag?"
Their Royal Highnesses King Gavin and Queen Carla of Tofflitania may look happy and radiant in this photograph, but the story behind it is a sad one. Fleeing a coup, the noble pair were en route to a secret tower in the midst of Goo Swamp where they hoped to wait out the political turmoil for nine years, after which time they could probably just about produce an heir without social workers becoming involved.
Of course, as any student of Tofflitanian history knows, the fine-looking horse on which they made their escape was actually a quisling steed comprised of a couple of mercenaries in the pay of Bad Prince Larry. The wicked duo's disguise was so realistic and compelling that the King and Queen quickly grew to love and trust the fake animal, which they named Thunderthighs. In fact, they trusted Thunderthighs so much that they made neither fuss nor protest as their mount carried them, at a gentle canter, across a stony beach and into the sea. Once the regal children were safely drowned, the treacherous rebels sloughed off their disguise, changed into scuba gear and made for the coast of the newborn republic.
This famous image, taken in a photobooth at a café in Goo Swamp, is to be used on the new €10 note from 2009.
Artisan baker Gillian Gulverson tells us about a typical day.
4.00am
The alarm clock shatters a recurring dream about winking bagels and I'm wide awake, ready for a day's baking. The first thing I do is roll up my duvet and take it to the kitchen - of course, it's made of the dough I prepared the night before. Many young bakers don't sleep with their dough any more, but I like to keep up with tradition. The natural body warmth and 'night movements' of a sleeping baker give the dough a special suppleness that is impossible to replicate. I lay the sticky grey goo out on the countertop and use a dustbuster to hoover off any stray hairs. Then I wash my hands - hygiene is paramount - and begin to knead.
5.03am
Shit! I forgot to turn the oven on. It takes ages to heat up. To be honest, I shouldn't ever turn it off.
5.10am
Until the oven reaches the right temperature, there's not much I can usefully do, so I watch a little TV.
12.31pm
I can't believe Alf Stewart is still in Home & Away. Right. I check the oven with my elbow and it's hot enough (volcano temperature) for baking bread. Now I can put in the dough! There's a lot of it, several hundred kilos, so I use that big wooden spade thing to place it on the oven shelf. I don't think it has a name.
1.18pm
Nearly time for Russell Grant's Postcards.
5.20pm
It's bread o'clock! As you can see in the photograph, I take the bread out of the oven and sniff it to make sure it hasn't gone off already (which can happen if the yeast achieves critical mass). Notice that I'm wearing special gloves. That's because I don't want to get my fingerprints on the crust, in case it's a poisoned loaf.
Notice also how the 633kg of dough I started with has shrunk down to just a single 800g loaf. I should really find out why that keeps happening.
5.33pm
I put the hot bread on the sill to cool. The wholesome aroma of the cooling loaf inevitably attracts hobos, who I have to scare off by firing my shotgun out of the window at random intervals.
11.48pm
Disaster! A pigeon and a rat - working in unison and possibly trained by a hobo - just tried to steal my bread! It was nearly cooled down as well. The pigeon distracted me by tapping its beak against the skylight while the rat climbed up to the sill and wrapped its tail around the loaf! I'm not sure quite what happened next, but suffice to say, my hair is full of broken glass, I've shot up the fridge and there's Fairy Liquid all over the walls. The loaf is ruined - full of buckshot and rat guts.
11.53pm
Bedtime! I try and put the lost loaf behind me. What with hungry hobos, flour ghouls and runaway crusting, a baker is used to these kind of setbacks. As I brush my teeth with egg yolk, I promise myself that tomorrow - tomorrow - will be the day that I finally get to taste a slice of bread.
4.00am
The alarm clock shatters a recurring dream about winking bagels and I'm wide awake, ready for a day's baking. The first thing I do is roll up my duvet and take it to the kitchen - of course, it's made of the dough I prepared the night before. Many young bakers don't sleep with their dough any more, but I like to keep up with tradition. The natural body warmth and 'night movements' of a sleeping baker give the dough a special suppleness that is impossible to replicate. I lay the sticky grey goo out on the countertop and use a dustbuster to hoover off any stray hairs. Then I wash my hands - hygiene is paramount - and begin to knead.
5.03am
Shit! I forgot to turn the oven on. It takes ages to heat up. To be honest, I shouldn't ever turn it off.
5.10am
Until the oven reaches the right temperature, there's not much I can usefully do, so I watch a little TV.
12.31pm
I can't believe Alf Stewart is still in Home & Away. Right. I check the oven with my elbow and it's hot enough (volcano temperature) for baking bread. Now I can put in the dough! There's a lot of it, several hundred kilos, so I use that big wooden spade thing to place it on the oven shelf. I don't think it has a name.
1.18pm
Nearly time for Russell Grant's Postcards.
5.20pm
It's bread o'clock! As you can see in the photograph, I take the bread out of the oven and sniff it to make sure it hasn't gone off already (which can happen if the yeast achieves critical mass). Notice that I'm wearing special gloves. That's because I don't want to get my fingerprints on the crust, in case it's a poisoned loaf.
Notice also how the 633kg of dough I started with has shrunk down to just a single 800g loaf. I should really find out why that keeps happening.
5.33pm
I put the hot bread on the sill to cool. The wholesome aroma of the cooling loaf inevitably attracts hobos, who I have to scare off by firing my shotgun out of the window at random intervals.
11.48pm
Disaster! A pigeon and a rat - working in unison and possibly trained by a hobo - just tried to steal my bread! It was nearly cooled down as well. The pigeon distracted me by tapping its beak against the skylight while the rat climbed up to the sill and wrapped its tail around the loaf! I'm not sure quite what happened next, but suffice to say, my hair is full of broken glass, I've shot up the fridge and there's Fairy Liquid all over the walls. The loaf is ruined - full of buckshot and rat guts.
11.53pm
Bedtime! I try and put the lost loaf behind me. What with hungry hobos, flour ghouls and runaway crusting, a baker is used to these kind of setbacks. As I brush my teeth with egg yolk, I promise myself that tomorrow - tomorrow - will be the day that I finally get to taste a slice of bread.
What is the Electronic Motivational Talisman? Put simply, the Electronic Motivational Talisman uses advanced computer imaging techniques to present a rapid succession of encouraging images to the brain of the viewer via the eye or eyes. The images are specially selected to energise, motivate and provide a psychological 'boost'.What's more, hidden amongst the images - like bandits (but helpful) in a forest - are a number of motivational statements written in words which sneak into the unconscious (or 'lazy') part of the brain and create, in Maslow's terminology, 'a climate of can-do'.
To use the Electronic Motivational Talisman, simply think of something that you've been putting off doing - stopping crying, winching a naughty baby out of a well - then click on here. Just let the positive images wash over you, while the subliminal messages reprogram your mind.
You must be this tall to use the Electronic Motivational Talisman.
