Hunk of the Month Club - Hunks of History edition: Paul Newman

When Paul Newman died in 2008 (I know, can you believe it was that long ago?!), the world mourned the loss of a truly great guy. Here was a man who had fought in a war, acted in a bunch of movies, stayed married for a super long time in Hollywood and devoted part of his life to making pasta more delicious, then giving away the money he earnt through doing so. His death meant that there was one less truly wonderful person in the world, and so we all mourned. 

Of course, Miss Soft Crab also mourned his death as the loss of a hunkiness that comes around once, maybe twice in a lifetime.

Look at this face, readers. 

Mate, what do you want to say about that face?

J: It's true, that kind of face I mean guy comes along so rarely it's worth celebrating retrospectively. Paul Newman was so handsome that for years, YEARS, I didn't even realise Robert Redfdord was a hunk. I was so blinded by Newman when I saw Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid I couldn't even tell there were two hunks in that film. Now that! That is one hell of a hunk. 

Hunks, all of them. 

K: Well Mate, I guess the one good thing that came from me making you watch The Way We Were so many times was an increase in your Robert Redford-as-hunk awareness.

I kind of had the reverse experience. Being raised by a mother with a permanent boner for Robert Redford, I had no idea that there were other hunks in Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid until I saw it for the first time and from that day forward have basically been all Robert who?

Sure, Robert is pretty. But Paul, readers, Paul. He is something else altogether.

And Butch is such a lovely character! I don't know what that lady was thinking, going out with Sundance.

This is the face of a madwoman

J: Well, clearly that lady in Butch and Sundance is crazy. But literature and life are full of this kind of crazy (see: Bella Swan choosing Sparkleface over Jacob and Kristen Stewart choosing that old director over R.Patz).

I can see it. 

You know a special thing about P.New, from a purely superficial point of view, is that he really just had such a nice face. Even as he got old, actually old, you could still see the handsome man in there. Now that is something you don't see everyday.

K: I totally agree. His face was just so fine. That goddamned smile, Mate (and readers).

It's like Woody Allen says in the end of Manhattan, when he is listing all the things that make life worth living.

If Miss Soft Crab was writing that list, it would start and finish with Paul Newman's face.

Is that a bottle opener around his neck? Hot. 

*cough*

I mean

J: Yeah, that face sure is worth living for. But, like you said earlier, Mate, The Newm was more than just a pretty face. I mean, the guy invented a sauce company just so he could donate the profits to charity. He made a whole company for charity. What a guy!

K: The Newmanator was a really top guy.

And, because he was married to the same woman for his whole adult life, his hunkiness includes a whole other dimension that no other MSC HotMC has before.

He was a hunk that didn't spread it around, and readers, I'm sorry but that is HotMC hot.

J: Yeah, fidelity really is the mark of a great hunk. Sure, P.New left his first wife for J.Woo, but whatevs, he was so young when they met.

Really it is almost impossible to believe that a hunk like that existed. Pretty; philanthropic, long-term monogamist; did I mention pretty?; life-long hunk. I'm sure the guy was not perfect, but whatevs, even being able to have a life long appearance of a-grade hunk is worth kudos.

K: Yeah, no hunk is perfect, but P.New? He was pretty darn close.

So kudos Paul Newman, MSC's very first HotMC: Hunks of History Edition hunk and hero, may you inspire other hot people to go further and become the dead set hunk you were. 

Haiku Thursday (PM)

Olfactory Haiku

The smell of the rain

On hot pavement is up there

In my top ten smells. 

Along with the smell

Of a garden after its

Rained. That's probs top five. 

It's off topic, but

I also love the smell of

Roast Potatoes. Yeah. 

Haiku Thursday (AM)

Best things

You know what I dig?

Sun, when you get on my face.

All warm and stuff. Mmmm.

Worst things

You know who you are

Dog owners of Collingwood

Pick up your dog shit

Imaginary TV show workshop (PM)

I can't wait to watch Barely Legal! I hope it doesn't have a time clash with these hot new shows.

Bend and Stretch
James Bend is a small time gym owner with a small but loyal clientele, he's struggling to make ends meet when big chain gym STRETCH IT! moves in across the street and owner Penelope Stretch is taking no prisoners. When Penelope decides she wants STRETCH IT! to be the only gym in the neighbourhood she has no idea what she has gotten herself into. Sparks fly, in every direction, between the gym owners and neither is prepared to relinquish the turf!

Digging Deep
Dean Deep is an archeology professor who hasn't worked in the field for years - not since his girlfriend met her tragic end in a terrible accident while they were working together on an important dig. That's until he hears news of a new discovery that could change the course of history - or the world's understanding of it. With a crack team of his top students, Deep ventures to the ancient ruins of Egypt to work on the dig and discover the mysteries of the ancient past. Now that he is back in the field will the academic life be able to satisfy him? And what does all this mean for his relationship with the Anne-Marie, the Dean of English that Deep just can't fully commit to?

Imaginary TV show workshop (AM)

Imaginary TV show workshop is back readers, and this time it's intolerant of law breakers! What? Who cares, read on!

Barely Legal

Alibi Jones is a brilliant lawyer who will do whatever it takes in pursuit of the truth.

So when the police need someone to go undercover at Double Dees, notorious mob-boss Dominic Donini's infamous Chicago strip joint, Ally's angelic face and perfect 10 figure make her the prime candidate. Overnight, Ally Jones becomes Areola Je T'aime, the stripper with moves so sweet there oughtta be a law against it, setting honey-trap after honey-trap for Chicago's underbelly. 

In between lap dances, Ally helps her fellow strippers - the most loveable ensemble of whores-with-hearts-of-gold since Julia Roberts and Laura San Giacomo - beat their solicitation raps and win back custody of their kids. 

Ally's combining case-law with crotchless panties - and cleaning up Chicago's streets for good!

Understanding McCarthyism (PM)

This is what I texted J on Sunday morning, after I discovered she had tweeted "I'm beginning to think the movie Mannequin doesn't make any sense" at about 10pm the night before:

You see, my brothers and I used to watch Weekend at Bernie's and Look Who's Talking all the time when we were little. We taped them off the tele and though everything else we recorded we eventually taped over,  for some reason, WaB and LWT endured. I think because of this, perhaps I ruined myself for McCarthy. And babies. Just kidding! I love babies, especially Baby and Niecey and Little Nut. But I can't watch McCarthy. Every time I see him now I think 'ewww', and also 'Andrew McCarthy looks a little like Ethan Hawke when he smiles. Eww'.  You just can't watch WaB as many times as I have and think anything else.

Understanding McCarthyism (AM)

I realised something about myself this weekend. A few things in fact. First, even though Mannequin is a classic, important film for my generation, I’ve never seen the whole thing. Oh maybe I did once years ago, but it hasn't stuck with me. I’ve seen bits of it on TV a bunch of times, but maybe never the start, always the end. And for a girl like me, that’s a strange, confronting thing to admit. The second thing I realised was that even though Andrew McCarthy has never played a character I’ve loved I can’t help but feel something for him when he is on the screen. 




I want to make it clear that I am not now, nor have I ever been, in love with Andrew McCarthy. Certainly not as Blane McDonnagh in Pretty in Pink. I mean his best friend is that d-bag Steff. I know that people love a young James Spader, and in many ways, although a right a-hole, Steff is kind of more appealing than the wet Blane. Ugh, with his sensitivity and his affection for Molly Ringwald despite the fact he is rich and she is poor. You can’t love Blane. Also, did I mention his name is Blane? But he is the romantic lead, so, if I'm being honest with myself, you can't entirely ignore him either.

 

I did not love Andrew McCarthy as Kevin in St Elmo’s fire. How could I when he was playing next to a young, reckless Rob Lowe? And yet, I guess all that pathetic pining for Ally Sheedy makes you feel a little something. Pity, becomes affection becomes some subconscious attraction. 

Probably the same thing is happening in Pretty in Pink on some level too. Though it happens on no level at all in Weekend at Bernie's. That I know for sure.

But as I watched the end of Mannequin on Saturday night (only the end – I still haven’t seen the whole thing), watched Andrew McCarthy scramble up a conveyor belt to save his inanimate mannequin love before she is eaten by the giant mannequin disposal unit that no doubt exists in the basement of all department stores, I was struck by a little shimmer of affection. Even though in my actual brain all I was thinking was “What? I’m meant to care about the romance between a man and a mannequin.”

I know that the mannequin is not always inanimate and their love is based on the times when she becomes Kim Cattrall, still I was having trouble buying it. Or I thought I was, until, inexplicably I felt something when Andrew McCarthy saved the mannequin before she was ground into so much polystyrene. She becomes Kim Cattrall, they kiss, I micro-swooned.

I thought that maybe this is to do with my age. That I am unable to resist the McCarth because in my youth he was everywhere and I guess he was something of a heartthrob. Or something. In fact he was a heartthrob before heartthrobs were really on my radar (yes, I realise that it is hard to believe there was a time when heartthrobs weren’t on my radar but it’s true!) His prime had passed by the time I was interested in hunks. (No seriously, there was a time before I was interested in hunks.) But it’s like I am so attuned to the films of the eighties I have to find him attractive.  Or that's what I thought. K sent me a text on Sunday which indicated I was the only Crab to have these feelings about McCarthy. So while I think that age is a factor, that I have to find the hunks of the films of my youth somewhat attractive (or something - I use the term very loosely). I think it is also just me. I think I am just a sucker for a romantic hero. Idiot.

Winterchut (PM)

No one has ever, ever called me the responsible one out of me and K. So no, I did not take a photo of Welly's (DELICIOUS) rhubarb pie. But it looked great readers. This nice long rectangle with with a lattice lid.

You know the worst thing about the Winter Chutney? There were so many leftovers. I had left over croissants I had to eat for breakfast the next day. There were donuts and macarons from Biggie Little and Little Wonders, rhubarb pie from Welly. And of course had I had to eat them yesterday while there was still some freshness in them. I still feel like I have a sugar coating over my mouth. Ugh.

I had a wonderful time at CC on Saturday too. And all the food was actually mind-bendingly delicious.  But oh. Oh the sugar. I don't think Baby ate anything of healthfulness all day. He just passed out when we got home. I thought I should eat some vegetables so I did. Then I lay in a bean bag until I could move again. Hours, readers, it took hours.

Now excuse me, I need to go brush my teeth again.

Winterchut (AM)

Do you guys get bored when, on a Monday morning,  we tell you about what we did on the weekend? If so, sorry you guys. And see you tomorrow, because this post is about the Winter Chutney Club meet at Miguel and Legsley's on Saturday.

If you've been here before, you know what goes down at Chutney Club. People make a bunch of jars of chutney. People get together and eat them with things, then swap their jars. People have a wonderful time. That's Chutney Club.

Normally there is a good balance of sweet and savoury things. Not this time. Everyone  inadvertently made a sweet thing, which meant we basically spent three solid hours eating sugar. Except for David who made butter, so in fact we spent three hours eating sugar and butter.
If I was five, this would be my lifelong dream and this post would be coming to you from a person who was ready to die because she'd done it all. But readers, I'm not five any more. Not by a motherflipping long shot. My dreams have changed and rightly so, because  spending three solid hours eating sugar will do things to a person. You know that feeling of having a sugar high? That happened after about 45 minutes. What happened after that I have no benchmark or words for. No words, because I'm not entirely sure I've come down yet. I mean, I haven't had a hunger signal in about 40 hours now. I did take some photos though. Let's let them speak for me.

First up, we see butter by David (background),  and toast in the shape of teapots with marmalade by Blizzie.

Effing cute/effing yum. 

Here we have croissants by Miss Soft Crab's own J.

Hot. 

Fancy a little flourless orange cake with marmalade glaze by Miguel and Legsley? Of course you do.

Also visible: the salted caramel and cream tarts I made. PLease refer to bottom right of image, in front of J's croissants.

We all ate every one of these things, and from this point on, the photos start to get a little incoherent.  

That's partly my fault, because I thought it would be a good idea to give the camera to baby. 

Check this out: 

It looks like a dream sequence, right? In fact it is a photo Baby took. Somehow he managed to capture the mood of the day perfectly. That kid has a gift.

Anyway, while Baby was getting his Annie Leibovitz on, we were still eating. 

Eating things like these donuts Biggie Little made. 

I don't know how that pig got on the table. 

And these macarons Little Wonder made.

Salted caramel to the left, pink grapefruit to the right. 

By the time the rhubarb and apple tart that Welly made came out, neither baby nor I were in a position to photograph it. I had taken a spot on the floor, where I rested against an ottoman, and watched while Legsley drew some elephants for Baby.

I love these elephants and looking at them soothes me. 

I don't know how long I was there for, but by the time I came to, the tart had been chopped up in to take home packs for everyone. Lets hope J got a picture of it beforehand. She's always been the more responsible one.
Don't get me wrong, we all had a wonderful time. I guess it's just been a long winter and I feel like part of my brain is still in hibernation and or/sugar coated atrophy. I'm pretty sure I'm no alone though. This came through from Miguel yesterday.

I hope you find your knife guys.  I don't have it, BTW. 

Return to found (*(k

Well guys, usually I wouldn't just jump into post like this without a little introduction, but I think that found cocks really need no introduction. So let's get the ball(s) rolling!


J:  You know yet another reason why I can't wait for winter to be over? So I can get out of the damn house and find some damn cock art! If it weren't for the kindness of friends (and strangers) I could barely even contribute to this FC experience. But, thanks to friends, strangers, and the kid that drew this, I can.

K: Mate, you're so right. Genuinely creative indoor cock art is really hard to find. If it weren't for public transport, it would have been a long winter indeed.

Happily, Jewel station provided me with this:

Touch on, readers!

J: Thank god for PT, ay? Not that I ever see any cock on the train.

You know FC seemed to really strike a chord with people. For example, all the way over in LA Mondonna really embraced FC and posted several pictures of her and her friends with their FCs on FB. And Phibber posted a constructed food cock from gay Paris on my FB page. But since, weirdly, both those guys left FB I can't show them to you. 

We apologise, but due to technical difficulties we can not show you global FC.

K: FC speaks to all of us.

Just quickly, before we move on from public transport cock, I just want to highlight something I spotted on the tram the other night, and made Legsley photograph for me.  

It's hard to make out, but it's basically a biro drawing of cock and balls on someones hand. And not just anyone, some totally respectable looking guy who looked like he was on his way home from work or something. Right there on his hand: cock and balls. 

J: HAHAHA! Such a good one. Like he was just doodling a doodle at work! HAHA!

Speaking of inappropriate FC remember how at Blizzie's wedding we couldn't stop making everything into FC? Like this random clip and the vodka figs Miguel had the foresight to bring!
 

K: We really could not stop turning things in to FC at that wedding. Which is strange, given how perfectly tasteful everything was. But I guess we were all so happy we couldn't help but do one of our favourite things.

Ok, so I have another FC that I want to talk about, but sadly do not have a picture of. It was basically a giant FC drawn on the side of a white house on my street. This house is on a corner, so it has an entire pure white wall just begging to be drawn on. Happily, someone stepped up to the plate and drew this extremely large FC in  black texta and by extremely large I mean mother-flipping huge.

I saw it from my car as I was driving down the street and chuckled all the way home. I went back yesterday to get a photo of it but disaster! Someone had already painted over it. 

Censorship blows!

Thank god there is no censorship on the internet where I found this:

I will never stop finding this funny.

J: I can't believe that cock got painted over so quickly. It sounds like a real good one and I think we probably would all have been better off having seen it. Luckily, though, I have a real doozie to finish on.

You see a couple of months ago I was innocently sitting at work when a picture was texted to me from a number I didn't recognise and it was...amazing! I could barely believe my eyes! When I texted back asking who it was, and thinking it was a friend whose number I'd lost, it turned out to be a stranger! A colleague of Russeth's.

I think this really shows what a great sense of humour Mother Nature must have. And the fact that it got to the supermarket and into the hands of a friend of Russeth's shows how generous Fate is!  Take a look guys.

K: Mother Nature, you've done it again. 

Haiku Thursday (PM)

The joys of winter

I

Winter gets hated

Me, I'm a hardcore hater

But it has a role

II

See, without winter

There's no joy of fleece trackies

No joy of doona

III

Without winter, see 

There's no joy of its ending

No joy of spring's start

Haiku Thursday (AM)

Springtime

Pretending I could 

Love other seasons ends with

The first breath of you

Magnolia

You're the herald of

Springtime. And also one of my

Favourite movies. 

Irritation

You turn up some days

And you refuse to fuck off

For love nor money.

WTF Wednesday (PM)

Oh geez, it is a goddamned jungle out there. 

Back when I thought you were a beautiful bird beating your feathery wings to swoop in on one of natures biggest a-holes, I was in to you, Tarantula Hawk. Now that I know that you beat wings made out of INSECT WING MATERIAL in order to fuck up a tarantula in a pretty brutal way, I don't want a bar of you.

So see you next Tuesday, Tarantula Hawk. 

And Damon Albarn, get up in my business right now!

WTF Wednesday (AM)

You guys, I just did a little Google search and it turns out that blogs all over the cyberspace are running days called WTF Wednesday! But if my brief perusal of said WTF Wednesday's was representative you'll definitely get your best WTF Wednesdays right here!

This really brown blog I looked at mentioned the words 'tarantula hawk' and I thought WTF?!?!?! I would have just thought it was a hawk that ate tarantulas but they made it clear that this was not a bird. (FYI the WTF moment of this post was that a bird built a nest in this blogger's garden and that bird must have been an idiot because the blogger has German pointers, which are bird-hunting dogs. Yes, that was their WTF. You see how much better off you are here, readers?)

But no. Tarantula hawks are not tarantula-eating hawks. They are tarantula-eating mother flipping WASPS! Wasps that eat tarantulas! Holy mother effing moly! The thought of a huge wasp wrestling a tarantula is one of the most terrifying things I have ever imagined.

The wasp is up to 5cm long and it looks like this:

I'm sorry you had to see that.

Also, the wasp belongs to the family of wasps called 'spider wasps'. Oh god, it just keeps getting more terrifying. They live in South America and according to wikipedia in some parts of Venulzuela and Columbia they are called 'matacaballos' which means HORSE KILLER.

I can't believe there are tarantula-eating, horse-killing wasps out there. 

Let's all look at a picture of a Damon Albarn to make us all feel better.

= Destination reached!

What is Prince William up to? (PM)

If you ask me, Prince William doesn't look too happy about those guys crossing swords in front of his wife either. Even if those swords are really torches. Come on, guy, you are the Duke of Cambridge, stand up for yourself.

So check it out. Prince William has also been saving the heck out of people!  Just last night he saved a woman in Wales who fell down a cliff and last week he saved a drowning teenager! Way to do a great job in the RAF!

I guess this is what it looks like when Prince William is about to save people

 
Also, it appears that the Prince has been looking quite handsome in a beard.




So he saves damsels in distress and looks handsome. This prince is performing the shit out of his princely duties if you ask me!

What is Prince William up to? (AM)

The other day, I was catching up on my favourite blog, Miss Soft Crab. No, really. I was bored and I thought I would read old Miss Soft Crab entries. What a great time I had! You guys should keep it in mind for next time you're bored.
In addition to amusing me a great deal, it reminded me that we have a LOT of tags for our posts. There  are our oft-used favourites ( please see WTF, Best Things, Food), but there are also many many more we have used just once or twice (see: terror, so much ugh and sounds like my friday night).

Perhaps the most surprising tag I stumbled upon was 'Prince William'. I know, on this blog? Surprised the shit out of me too. Turns out J referred to him a couple of times back in the early days of MSC and then we haven't give him another look since.

Doesn't seem very nice, does it? Shall we check in and see what he's been up to? Ok then!

Well, unsurprisingly, he's been going to the Olympics with his wife a fair bit.

That looks like fun, doesn't it?
He's also been dressing up in his pilot outfit.

Such a good one.
And because he's such a cool guy, it looks like he's also been going along with it while a couple of dudes cross swords in front of his wife.

Harry looks appropriately dubious. 

What a cool guy.

Perhaps most importantly though, I am pleased to advise that like most future kings, he's also been getting himself noticed as a subject for art, albeit in a supporting role for his wife and grandmother in this hilarious Tim Key poem. 

So that's Prince William. Tomorrow we will revisit another infrequently used MSC tag. Maybe Boreanaz?

(We're not really going to do that.)

Psychic TV (PM)

If I knew what watching Psychic TV was like, say because my friend had emailed me at 11pm or so and said:
"Ps. I hope your night is as good as mine. Watching psychic tv" with a picture something like this:

and then I had tuned in to see what the future was going to be like, I would completely support J's reflections that psychics seem to be frustrated decorators. One of the middle-aged ladies kept telling everyone to de-clutter their homes so that their dreams could come true. And she said that people should choose key colours to decorate their homes, for example purple and white, like she has chosen for her home. HAHAHAHAHAHHA. Purple and white. 

Psychic TV (AM)

Have you ever watched Psychic TV? No me neither. A live show on Saturday night where people call or text a 1900 number to ask psychics on TV to tell them their future. Of course I haven't watched it. A show so idiotic and boring it somehow lulls you into watching it endlessly. Maybe. With it's Rage-like addiction. No ads, no end in sight. "I'll just see what the next reading is." Maybe. Maybe that's what happens when you watch it. I wouldn't know.

I understand that there is a host. In fact there are 2 hosts, they alternate, or something, and they sit with a psychic and read out the texts. You know, and generally host. And they seem quite convinced about the psychicness and call everyone darling. I imagine.

And the psychics rotate every half hour or so. I would guess. So you may get a guy who just sees the future. "I really see a Daniel around you. Yes, I'm seeing a Daniel." Or a woman that loves purple and is a Feng Shui expert that considers herself a great manifester, just tells everyone to declutter and turn on a lamp in the part of the room that symbolises the part of the life they want to activate. Basically I think she wants to be a decorator but decided to go niche. That's how I would imagine a person like that anyway.

Then there may be a woman dressed in pink, middle-aged, plumpish, calls herself a medium, reads angel cards without seeming to have any idea what the fuck they mean (who does? And what the fuck are angel cards?) Pulls a card and says it looks like Christian Grey from 50 Shades of Grey. Giggles hysterically when someone called Jacob sends a text asking his future, because she associates him with Twilight. Says things like "Riaoooow, you hunk".

It's almost as if the fact that everyone on the show is completely unappealing and all the requests for readings are the same and basically all the readings are the same, this is the reason it's such compelling viewing. Or rather it's so much like being asleep that going to bed seems pointless.

I think that's what watching Psychic TV until 1am on a Sunday morning would be like. But of course I have no idea. 

Friday Favourites: Damon Albarn (PM)

What K says is true. But my mind track looks more like this:
*blllluuuuuuurrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrgh*
*Blur!*
*Damon Albarn! = destination reached!*

Damon Albarn is the bomb. I love Blur so much! Also I love the Gorillaz! And while that Dr. Dee opera is kind of weird, you gotta respect a man that wants to writes an opera about some old skool mathematician/astronomer/astrologer who straddled the worlds of science and magic and whose thirst for the occult led to his downfall, and then just does it.

Also did you know that Damon Albarn's girlfriend/mother of his child, Suzi Winstanley, is an artist who makes collaborative paintings and photographs with her artistic partner, which I don't really get but think is kind of great. All their work is about nature and they have quite a few wolf works, so, you know, I kind of love them. I know that doesn't really have anything to do with Damon but I guess it's just a positive association.

I know it's Friday and usually I'd like to play a party song to get y'all in the mood but I'm afraid I can't go past 'No distance left to run' for my Blur pick. I just think it's a really beautiful, sad song. I love the tired feel of it. Like he really can do no more. I pretty much think it's genius.

Damon Albarn, you really are an everyday favourite. That doesn't really have the ring of Friday Favourite, but I bet you could make it work.

Friday Favourites: Damon Albarn (AM)

Lately, I have been thinking a lot about Damon Albarn. You know, because of the Olympics. And also because of my one track mind. Which track? 

The fast track to Hunktown of course, like you needed to ask. Before you judge me, J is exactly the same as me and she has a baby, so to judge me is to judge her and please don't do that.

Here is an overview of what has been going down in my brain for the last few weeks.

*Olympics*

*London*

*England*

*Great Britain*

*Britain*

*Brit Pop*

*Blur*

*Damon Albarn! Destination = reached!*

Readers, Damon Albarn is so great. Tell me: have you ever heard a Blur song, or a Gorillaz song, and thought to yourself, gee, I wish I wasn't listening to this right now. Of course you haven't. No one has. And that's almost all because of Damon Albarn.

There are shed-loads (which is what my new boss says when he wants to say shitloads and I think it's very quaint so I am using it here) of songs I could refer to to illustrate how great Damon Albarn is. I'm sure you all have your personal favourites.  For me it's  Tender, always and forever. Everything that is good about Damon Albarn and music in general is in the song Tender. It's got a beat that won't quit, a melody so perfect it sounds like it's been around since the dawn of musical time and it's impossible not to hear it and start singing. I basically want that song to go on forever. 

Damon Albarn: because you are as pretty as a picture, because your music is as pretty as your face, and because you seem like a man who always knows what he is doing, you are Miss Soft Crab's Friday Favourite. And you know what baby? We don't even need a Friday Favourite to know how great you are. You would be our favourite any day of the week and twice on Sundays. It just so happens that it's Friday today.

Take it away, Damon Albarn.

(and Blur)

Haiku Thursday (PM)

Dead jonquils on my bedside table

Such pretty babies

When alive. Now, Reminder

Of my laziness.

Dead daphne on my kitchen table

I

Heavenly perfume

Or, the memory of it

Is why I keep you.

II

In addition to 

My being lazy as a 

Cat on a heater.