The BOOJUM! Experience - A Walk On The Weld Side

Svadiiy Soomochka!
Which is Russian for "Old Bag", although more correctly this Intro should begin "Noviiy Soomochka!" but the title is the first Russian I learnt, for the purposes of insulting people without them realising it.*
     "Noviiy Soomochka" means "New Bag", of course, and here the article is:

Resplendent on our new table

     This bag is indeed almost brand new - and thereby lies the problem.  My old rucksack was aged beyond belief, and thus had been battered over many seasons into a semi-shapeless container that the cat could sit in.  New Bag, on the other hand, is frighteningly rigid thanks to being so new, and it unbends to a worryingly small degree.  Thus it can only just be crammed into my locker at work, and any cat sitting in it would be trapped for as long as I found it funny to leave them in there ages.
     I should probably take time out this weekend to empty it and then beat it mercilessly with a stick.

Oh.  Browned Is Better, Apparently
Last night I made "Hello Dolly" bars, which are a layer of biscuitcrumbs-bound-with-butter, chocolate chips, coconut, chocolate chips, pecans and the whole lot drizzled with condensed milk.**  When baked the cond- CM, okay? - the CM caramelises and binds the whole thing together with a toffee-like finish.
     The whole thing to be baked for 20 to 25 minutes, tops.  Conrad, however, leaves it to bake whilst going great guns at the blog, and glances at his watch to witness 29:30 minutes elapsed.  Horrors!

A bit too browned, methinks

    It wasn't burnt, exactly, 

     <excuse me, the light is giving a worrying quiver and there may be a power-outage in the near future, so I'd better Save at this point>

     yet it was a lot browner than I intended it to be.  So I didn't charge for it at work, and what do you know -

Or is it?

     Poor Stephane.  He's been along at 4 p.m. before, when there was a slice or two left - not today.  Rachel had hoovered up the last one.  Apparently, for all their extra-browning, they were very tasty.

"Mason And Dixon" by Thomas Pynchon
Coming to the end of this novel, so I am trying to maximise my blog-wringings as the page count approaches finality.  Mention is made of the "Copley Medal", which I had not heard of before, and which shows the thoroughness of Tom's research.  It is a medal bestowed by the Royal Society, their most prestigious award.
     I should point out here to anyone not from the UK that "The Royal Society" is not a fan club for our esteemed monarch HM The Queen*** but is, rather, our noble island nation's premier scientific society.

Venue of their Christmas lectures.
Which are actually very very entertaining.

     And what do we have here?  The word "Susurrus".  I've long liked that word, and it's so rarely used.  Quite onomatopoeoiaic. Onamotopeoic - Ono - o you know what I mean.
     And then Tom springs into one of his flights of fancy, imagining a Mason Dixon Line being drawn across the Atlantic Ocean back to England, that creates an oceanic community which spreads north and south, burgeoning into a narrow false land -
     You know what, this reminds me of "Out Of The Mouth Of The Dragon" by Mark Geston, where the protagonist purloins a road-train and drives it across a bridge structure that spans the Atlantic Ocean.

RobocoPlot Hole
Yes by Jove, Courtney Love!  
     As you surely know by now, the inner workings of Conrad's brain are as much a mystery to him as to the rest of you, so I'm not sure why this plot point suddenly rose to the surface in his mind today.  However, let us proceed -
     Clarence, Crime Lord of Old Detroit, has turned up at the office of his best chum Dick Jones, Lord of Pretty Much All Of OmniCorp, after being beaten into a bundle of bloody beefsteak.  Dick, not being the friendliest of characters, and with a distinct lack of social skills, is not - I  hate to say this, as it's so judgemental - very sympathetic about Clarence's pathetic bleatings to Officer Murphy.  What does he say?

Ronnie Cox.  ICON OF EVIL!

     "He's a cyborg, you idiot!  His memory's admissable as evidence."
     Oh yes indeed, Dick?  How do you know that?  Officer Murphy is the first operational cyborg in the world.  What precedent is there?  Is there a "RobocoPrequel" out there somewhere?  (Cries of "Yes! "Chappie" will be ignored).  And if Robocop is the first of his kind, be assured that there will be armies of lawyers ready and willing to debate if his memory is, in fact, admissable as evidence.  As otherwise there must be legal precedent about this.
     Whooops.  Conrad is beginning to sound like - <shudder> - a lawyer ...


Can You Facepalm A Facepalm?
I don't know if you can, but it would probably sting a bit.  Actually quite a lot.  Conrad has been putting the media spotlight on The Metro of late, about their - not abusive, exactly, but certainly baffling - adverts that exploit animals.  Lo!

    A cat that appears as if was inhaling vapours of mercury.  Look, O2, if Anna gets wind of this you are going to be hunted men!  Take my advice and move onto weasels.



* Yes, really.  Is this impressive or sad or both?  Only you can tell!
** I found a tin at the back of the cupboard, so I didn't have to travel to Royton for some, hoorah!
*** STAND UP AND SING THE NATIONAL ANTHEM YOU AT THE BACK!
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