Excuse, Muse - Less Abuse

Much Ado About Quite A Bit
     - with thanks to Bill S.
     Hard as it may be to believe, on occasions Conrad is stuck for blog material.  At such times he implores the Muse Melpomene, the muse of Comedy, to come to his aid.
    Not tonight.  I have material to blog about, just not time to blog it.  After working overtime and getting home at 7:00, I then have to get some food into the howling wilderness of my stomach, before making lunch for tomorrow's imploding tornado of a digestive system, whilst making muffins for the ganterpies at work, and washing up the dishes I'd used, and allowing a small furry fireball to madly lick my hand for long enough to make it soggy, and all before 9:00 when it's off to - Pub Quiz!

Who baked all the pies muffins?  Conrad!  Here he is, looking a bit jowly (probably ate all the muffins, too!)

Tergiversation
     As part of BOOJUM!'s charter to educate yourselves - you being the huddles masses, if 14 visitors can be described as a "mass" - I recalled this word early today in the walk to work, accompanied by Darling Daughter.
     "It's not a proper word!" she scoffed.  "You made it up!"
     So let me see - "Tergiversation" -  a manner of speech like one of the characters in 19th Century Russian literature, apropos Turgenev or Gogol or Dostoyevsky - e.g. that engineer chap in "The Possessed" whose avowed aim in life is to commit suicide.
     What's that?
     It's not?
     It merely means "very changeable"?
     Well I can't really complain at that, since having Dostoyevsky as your definition is a monstrous metric of misery.

Duster Vs Kia.  Close enough.

A Little Musical Criticism
     Some of you, I bet, are thirsting for vengeance at Conrad's irreverent analysis of Simon & Garfunkel's song lyrics, especially "The Only Living Boy In New York" revealed as being about zombies.
     "How about picking on some of your favourites, Conrad?" I hear the mob baying as they march on the Mansion with blazing torches and pitchforks.  "Satirise some of that Icelandic Indie you like so much!"
     Okay, I will.  Put those torches out, though.  Yes, even you at the back who's only got a packet of Bryant and May.  And drop the shrimp fork, too.
     Okay. Sigur Ros.

Seconds later, they ate the photographer.  No, wait, hang on, that's the wolves -

     Let's look at the lyrics from my favourite track, "Rastraumur", from last year's "Kveikur" album.

                                                       "Hlustar á
                                                        Hjartað slá
                                                        Innanfrá
                                                        Brjóstkassinn
                                                        Út og inn"

     I think you can see this presents a problem in terms of musicology.  Firstly, Jonnsi might not be singing in Icelandic at all, instead in a made-up language known as "Hopelandic" -

     - I think "inn" might mean "in" but that's as far as I go.  Tomorrow - tomorrow we weigh into "So Long Frank Lloyd Wright"!

And Finally
     It's already 11:30 and Conrad needs to plug himself into the mains supply and recharge his batteries (the ones that sit where a human being would have a heart).  This being so, he would like to leave you with an image to remember:

Yes, he is the world's smallest diver