Blimey. I thought I was cinematically challenged, as it were.
Respect.
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The way I see it, the time you spend watching either could be spent either talking to someone or - far better(!) - reading a book.
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That seems to assume that literature is intrinsically superior to cinema as a medium.
Either is of course vastly preferable to talking to (most) people.
Yep, Gus is being misanthropic again. And present company is excepted, naturally.
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Not really, itās just that the pictures are better. And if you assume that I saw it that way then you might also assume that I only read the kind of books that get called āliteratureā. Nope, I read an awful lot of junk, and why not?
Nowt wrong with that. In fact one of the problems with cinemas is that they are far too people-y for my tastes,
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Strewth, no! You seem far too good an egg for that ;- )
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Time for me to go to bed.
Best dreams, Cellarites.
Soo xx
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Letās face it, ābored male American college professor gets his mojo back by sleeping with a studentā is a genre. Claiming itās not genre because itās āmainstreamā is missing the point.
Or as Tom Gauld put it, āyouāre all just jealous of my jetpackā.
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Donāt look at me, Sparrer: ātragically trodden on at an after-partyā sounds about the size of it.
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Other readers of good honest rubbish are welcome to join me in safety under the table.
Thatās also where the gin ended up, by strange coincidence.
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I am slightly surprised that you have any left, Dunnockā¦ 
.
Donāt worry Soo
Yours is in The Cupboard
Carinthia.xx
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How do you pronounce that? Like Gould, or Gowled or Galled (wincity)?
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Iāve never had to, but I would guess the last of those.
Orf to me nest.
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[yawnity]
Tseep.
yardarm
Things to doā¦
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I scored a night of sleep and a good shower and a high fibre breakfast with extra tea
I like fantasy reading matter terry at the moment
Soon to re read Tom Holt as they are on my Kindle
I also like Star Trek
So budge up and let me near the Gin wee birdie
I would hate the gin to get lonely
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There are times when I find myself almost charmed by the (seemingly) illogical behaviour of all things computerish. Almost as though devices have personalities, somewhat awkward ones, usually.
I wonder why, for example, Chrome has suddenly taken to offering to translate every single webpage I visit into French, when I have never actually accessed a page in French, or asked it to translate anything into French, in the past. I reckon either my Chromebook is just showing off or it has decided I need to practice my French - if the latter, it is probably right.
Not that Iām bothered by this strange behaviour, it will have to try harder than that if it wants to really annoy me. And it probably will.
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DuckDuckGo has phases of assuming I am Russian or some sort of Slav, and presenting me with search results in Cyrillic.
I donāt know the Cyrillic alphabet, dear DDG. No, really; not even one letter of it.
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I have heard a Russian complaining at length: āWe could have had easy access to the entire canon of Greek writing, just at the cost of learning a new language. Or all of English and French and German and Latin! But no, no, Cyril has a better ideaā¦ā
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Yeah, they do that quite a lotā¦ Though to be fair, much Dostoevsky is not as long as it feels.
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Dostoevsky was my escape from inflicted Austen, as a teenager. Looking back, I realise that I was a bit odd and am now trying to w#rk out when I became normal. Ermā¦
I am very glad that Twellsy had a suitably chemically induced sleep.
The last rose from our Alnwick-inspired Just Joey:
I shared this first with Carinthia, as she was with us when we discovered this beauty.
Soo xx
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