At this time of festivity and celebration, in these days of Yuletide happiness and giving, I invite you all to spare a thought for those people on the planet who didn’t get an XBOX 360 with Gears of War for Christmas, such as myself.Jingle Bells
I have just watched the most amazing documentary. It is about Ram Bahadur Bomjom, a Nepalese buy monk who has meditated for ten months without food or water. No lie, many independent experts confirm it, they even showed a time laps of him not moving for 4 days.
He then one day disappeared into the "jungle", then returned a few days later and said something like, "I will be back in five years, ill be fine"
Mind blowing. (If you have read my first bok of "The Final Chapters" the similarity with Hodi is very close.")
Ram Bahadur Bomjon - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
(Let' not forget that Im the very same guy who fell for 911 Conspiracy belief, so don't sell everything and by tickets to Nepal just yet)
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My wife does not read this blog, nor I guess does anyone else’s wife... or husband or perhaps even ...relative. So this dilemma and confession remains between just myself and the idealized reader of this blog.
This is the situation.
I have been shopping online for my wife’s Christmas presents, she has done well. I started off at high end virtual couturier's and ended up, via a fairly noncircuitous route, on Ebay. I bought her many presents, spent allot of time thinking and planning and watching. This wasn’t an "its her birthday on Tuesday, it is time for ebay" kind of an ebay gift buying session.
So... I pay for the presents with Paypal. Cut and shuffled. Done and dusted. Its all good, daaaaawg. Then something strange dawned on me. And this strangeness lead to a 30 second investigation and the fruits of this investigation had seeds that planted ripe melons of mistake. Namely, that at some at some point recently my wife has set up her own credit card as the default payment method. So, when I pay with Paypal, I pay with her credit card.
So what do I do?
- Do I try to go through all the hassle of correcting the mistakes in her absence?
- Do I own up and tell her, out of the blue?
- Do I ignore the fact, happy in the resounding marital axiom that what is hers is mine?
- Do I pick a third party and try to make out to my wife that I had done a bit of “impromptu online shopping” in order to “cut her some slack on the Xmas preparation front?” (She would find this fact inconceivable).
No, I did none of these. As I was writing this post she was milling around and I thought I might as well let her read this post. Its 100% exactly the same as Bono from U2 composing “Sweetest Thing” for his wife, by way of an apology (for having sex with a German shepherd (A sheep specialist from Stuttgart, rather than a dog)).
Postscript: She pretty much settled with option 3 and would like out to point out that she does read my blog but only when I ask her to.
Swivel - Home
This site is full of graphs generated from data that people have uploaded and comparisons of that data. It sounds weird and in a way it is, but it will make sense if you go there.
The correlation between wine and violent crime and beer and violent crime is one of the most meaningless representations of anything you could ever see.
Ill probably stop visiting it bin a week or two, but if your a hard core number cruncher then this could be the best site on the internet.
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Its like google reader, but optimized for your mobile. But its the same reader. So if you read an article on one, you don't even need to see it on the other. If you add a new web site on one, voilla, its there on the other.
To try it do this:
- Get a Google Account - unless you have your reasons for not having a Google account, you should have one. Its like having an email address for the first time.
- Try Google Reader for two weeks. http://www.google.com/reader/m/
- Use it whenever you would go to your normal websites and you will see how it is a paradigm shift in browsing.
- View Google Reader on your mobile phone:
- Put this in your browser on your mobile phone: http://www.google.com/reader/m/
- Bookmark it.
When I was five my parents took me to
The airport was a shed. The customs was a trestle table. There were no trees and lots of just… crazy statues.
But the key memory I have of this trip, and one that I think has shaped me to a degree, was as follows (I’m going to write the memory down first and then ring up my folks to compare):
There was a kind of cairn thing. A pile of rocks in the middle of nowhere. At the base of this cairn was a cave, a small opening that a child, but not an adult, could enter. I crawled inside and there, in the dim, was a collection of bones. I seem to remember a pile of skulls but I can’t remember how many. I do remember taking a skull and backing off out of the cave to show my parents.
I guess they were a bit freaked out by their little boy emerging from some chthonic nook with a human skull in his hands. That’s all I can remember.
This is what they remember….
Pretty much as described but. It was an altar on the north side of the island… underneath a plinth. I wanted to take the skull home… they wouldn’t let me… I had to crawl back in and put the skull back.
That’s all they can remember…. To my dad, a far more prominent memory of that trip wasn’t his son finding a skull but him losing his briefcase.