There’s this friend of mine. Let’s call him “Alec”, and let’s assume that it’s not his real name. It’s just a random name, with no hidden meanings, no Latin roots, or witty anagrams baked in. It’s just code for this friend of mine.
“Alec” may or may not be Finnish, and he may or may not live in Finland. He could be 20, or he might be 45. Or neither. He’s not one of the Baldwin brothers. Who he is, is not the point.
I once saw Ringo Starr up close. I was walking down the street in Rome with my wife, when Mr. Starr came out of a building and crossed the street right in front of us.
Very surprising. I’m not the biggest Beatles fan in the world but I knew that beard, that nose, that look.
Oops.
Huan and Hui stuffed the money in a duffle bag, closed down their gas station, and hit the road, in pursuit of a better life as millionaires.
There seems to be a lot of confusion about the current global economic disarray. The Chicago School says one thing, the Harvard people another, and the IMF analysts yet something else. Nobody seems to know what is going on, and why.
Not to mention the most important question: whose fault is this?
I’m not much of a list maker, but I am married to one. So, this one’s for the lady in the house: My Top 10 memorable movie quotes (in response to the Brits’ list). My list consists of lines I actually use in real life, regularly, sad as it may seem.
10. “You’re the doc, Doc”, Back To The Future.
9. “Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn”, Gone With The Wind
8. “I broke the window again”, A Night at the Roxbury
7. “Trade me right fucking now,” Slapshot
6. “The point is, ladies and gentleman, that greed — for lack of a better word — is good”, Wall Street
Here we are now. Welcome, 2009. Wishing you a great new year.
Found this in a great piece about voice recognition:
The human ear is exquisitely sensitive; research has shown, for example, that people can distinguish between hot and cold coffee simply by hearing it poured.
Can you believe that? I have to do my own experiments. Genius at work.
There he was, sitting by the curb, with a little cup in front of him. Well, sitting is not the right word. He was on his knees, with his arms extended, palms pressed together. He was from Romania, said the cardboard sign in front of him.
I pulled him up and asked him to come with me. I was going to the coffee shop anyway. Here we are now, I’m blogging away, and he, Hristo, seems to like brownies. He’s already had three of them, and a huge caffe latte.
But, soon, we’ll have to go. I have to go to a hockey game, and he back to work.
In the Wikipedia entry for Robin Williams, it says, “Robin McLaurim Williams (born July 21, 1951 or 1952).” I find that fascinating. How does that work? Does anybody know his year of birth? Does he know?
Today, I also listened to WNYC’s Soundcheck podcast about stage names. How did Gordon Sumner become Sting? David Jones David Bowie? Apparently, even Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart was a stage name.
I guess it’s all about the image. It’s like that episode of Seinfeld where George is trying to make his colleague to call him “T-bone.” Doesn’t stick because he’s no T-bone even though he’d would give anything to be one.
Risto Pakarinen. Hmmm… Maybe it’s time to pick a new one.
T-bone? Or maybe just a variation of Risto, like on the ticket stub with Heart’s Nancy Wilson’s autograph: “Reestow, lots of love, Nancy Wilson”. Or, Kris Top. You know, with a little “risto” in the middle.
And let’s just say that Kris Top was born on April 1, 1978.
Whoah, it’s his birthday soon! Mine, I mean.
I love jeans. I remember taking the bus down to downtown Helsinki with one of my best friends – a.k.a. The Coolest Guy in the Class – to go to that Mic Mac store to get our first Levi’s 501s.
Only, they didn’t have them in my size, so I had to buy another kind. No idea what the type was, but I do know that the label on the butt was not red, but orange. And if you had asked me in school the day after, it was a flaming orange label that could be seen blocks away.
It was supposed to be red.